


Sundown

by ZenTango



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Damn Root is hot, Every western cliche imaginable and then some, F/F, POV Root (Person of Interest), Ruby is a big tease, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Shaw is ultra cool, Steampunk, Western, Whiskey galore, Yes Ruby is also in this here yarn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2019-04-22 22:42:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14318652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZenTango/pseuds/ZenTango
Summary: If 'Turnaround' was a love letter to Shaw, then this story is a love letter to Root. A whiskey-soaked, gunpowder-tinged Wild West steampunk sci-fi mashup of a love letter.





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
  
The darkness, which at first had seemed eternal, was slowly, gradually giving way to light. It was a warm, glowing, orange light. It felt friendly and inviting, so Root began moving towards it, slowly at first, then a little faster. After a few minutes of this, she realized she was actually walking -- no, striding -- into the growing light. The light was the sun, rising in the east. And she was walking across a desert toward a small town in the distance. She felt this was good. So she kept going.  
  
As she walked, she became aware of other things. The breeze whistling around her, the fresh air. The sounds of birds greeting the morning and the dying howls of coyotes in the distance, behind her, in the darkened west.  
  
Root kept walking and became aware of her body. There was a dull ache in her side and her chest. Was it hunger? Her long hair was blowing a bit in the wind, but she was wearing a hat. A black one with a wide brim that kept the sun off her head and out of her eyes. She looked down. Her boots were hand-tooled leather with heels that were a little lower than she preferred, but they felt good. She smiled and made a sound like "Mmmm."  
  
She had to admit, these duds were pretty cool. Long, straight trousers over her boots, a crisp white, pinstriped linen shirt with a brocade vest, a black western colonel's tie around her neck and a long, black duster coat to top it off. Then there was the double gun belt, slung low around her hips. Damn.  
  
She was walking into the little town now. People were stopping to look at her. She stared back and smiled. They went indoors. Root walked on until she saw the saloon. There was a worn wooden sign above the swinging doors. The Smalltalk Tavern. Perfect. She pushed through the doors and walked in, her boot heels tapping assertively on the hardwood floor.  
  
The saloon was practically empty, except for a couple of people at one table and a bartender in a white apron standing behind the bar. He looked up at her and flipped his towel over his shoulder, crossing his arms in front of him.  
  
Root walked over to the bar, smiled and tipped her hat ever so slightly.  
  
"Howdy," she said. It seemed like the right thing to say.  
  
"Howdy yourself, stranger," answered the barman. "Welcome to Euphoria."  
  
"Euphoria?"  
  
"Yup. That's the name of this here town."  
  
Root raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You don't say," she replied. "Where in tarnation is everyone?"  
  
"It's early yet," he said. "Sun just come up."  
  
"I saw."  
  
The barman flipped the towel off his shoulder and began drying some glasses on the counter.  
  
"Name's Tom," he said. "What's your name, stranger?"  
  
"You can call me Root."  
  
Tom stared at Root for a moment, then turned his head to look out the window, at the unoccupied hitching post outside.  
  
"We don't get too many strangers out these parts," he said. "Specially not them that ain't got a horse."  
  
He turned and looked back at Root.  
  
"Guess I better get me a horse then," she replied with a smirk. "Any idea where I can find one?"  
  
"Babbage owns the stables across the way," he said, nodding  to the other side of the street. "Ask for Little b. He'll set you up with a mount."  
  
"Much obliged," Root answered with another tip of the hat.  
  
She walked across the dirt road to the stables and soon spied a short young man with blond hair grooming one of the horses. He wiped his hands on his trousers and walked over.  
  
"Howdy, ma'am," he said. "Looking for a mount?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
He eyed her appraisingly.  
  
"I'm guessing a gunslinger like you would prefer a premium mount. You want a horse that's fast, strong and smart."  
  
He stroked his chin, which was completely devoid of any whiskers.  
  
"Or maybe smart, fast and strong?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.  
  
"That'll do," she nodded.  
  
He began walking between the stalls, looking at the horses.  
  
"Let's see, Cayenne, he's fast.  Or there's Boomerang ... or Clipper.  Viper is pretty smart. Cyclone, Dart ...  aha!"  
  
He went into one of the stalls and came out holding the bridle of a magnificent black horse.  
  
"Python," he announced proudly. "Best horse we have."  
  
"How much?"  
  
"Fifty bucks."  
  
"Fifty bucks for a horse?"  
  
The young man patted Python's neck affectionately and clicked his tongue.  
  
"Well, I could sell you a nag for 10," he said.  
  
Root reached into her vest pocket and pulled out three gold pieces, which she flipped from her thumb to the flabbergasted Little b.  
   
"Python will do just fine," said Root. "And I'll need a good saddle as well."  
  
Little b didn't answer right away. He had one of the gold pieces between his teeth. It was soon back in his hand with the others, quickly wrapped in a handkerchief and stuffed into his pocket.  
  
"I'll fit him out for you ma'am," he smiled broadly. "Best saddle we have."  
  
"I'll be at the saloon."  
  
He turned away, leading the horse back to its stall as Root began walking back across the street.  
  
"Say hi to Ruby for me," he called out, then disappeared, whistling, into the darkened stables.  
  
Root walked back into the saloon. Who the hell was Ruby? She had to admit the name sounded familiar but she wasn't sure why. She looked around the place. Only Tom remained, sweeping the floor. She went to a table and sat down, feeling a mite peckish. She ordered breakfast and Tom soon brought her a plate of stick-to-your-ribs vittles and a mug of black coffee. Root ate slowly, savoring the food, then called Tom back over.  
  
"Who's Ruby?" she asked him, wiping her mouth with a napkin as Tom picked up the empty plate.  
  
"Ruby's the singer," he replied with a smile. "She'll be in later. You'll love her. She has a voice like an angel."  
  
Root pushed her chair away from the table and looked towards the back of the saloon. Sure enough, there was a piano there. She'd have to come back later and hear Ruby for herself. She stood up and looked out the window to see Little b crossing the dirt road, leading Python behind him. Root walked outside to greet him, then swung up into the saddle.  
  
The horse was a little challenging at first, but Root soon brought him to heel and then trotted off for a look around town. There was a dry goods store, an apothecary, a post office and a bank. Further down the road was the sheriff's office and jail. The sheriff's deputy was standing outside with his hands on his gun belt, watching her as she rode by. She nodded and kept riding. Further along was a schoolhouse, then a bunch of small wooden homes. Then, the houses seemed to get larger, with the biggest one being a white revival style mansion with a coach and horses in front of it. Further out, there were ranches in the distance. Root turned Python around and headed back into town, toward the saloon.  
  
It was early afternoon by the time Root walked back into the Smalltalk Tavern. There were a lot more people in there now, and a thin man with spectacles was banging away on the piano, honky-tonk style. Root could feel the eyes upon her as she walked up to the bar and ordered a whiskey. Tom poured a glass of brownish liquid and pushed it across the bar toward her. She knocked it back smartly, then turned to lean back casually against the bar, sweeping her long coat out of the way so that the polished ivory handles of her guns were showing. The few men still staring quickly looked away and shuffled their feet. Root smiled and walked over to a table where some men were playing cards.  
  
"Deal me in," she said, as a chair was quickly vacated at the table.  
  
"Sure thing, stranger," answered the dealer. "Might I ask who we're playing with?"  
  
"You can call me Root."  
  
The man nodded and dealt the cards, and Root was soon holding a hand full of Queens and Aces. She couldn't lose.  
  
Hours later, Root was up several hundred dollars and a couple of silver pocket watches but she was getting bored. Luckily, that feeling didn't last too long. The noisy tavern soon exploded into raucous cheering as the piano player called out the marquee performer's entrance.  
  
"Ladies and gents, all the way from Texas, please welcome the one, the only .... Ruuuuubeeeee!"  
  
The crowd went wild as a tall beauty with raven hair swept dramatically down the stairs, dressed in a layered red and black dress. Smiling and laughing, she made her way to the piano with a flourish and launched into her first song, a rollicking western standard that soon had the audience on its feet, clapping and hollering.  
  
Tom was right. Ruby's voice was heavenly. She played the room with ease, delivering one-liners and snappy patter, tossing out one crowd-pleasing song after another. She caught Root's eye a couple of times and smiled broadly. Root smiled back. There was something about Ruby. Sure, she was sexy as hell but there was something else. Something familiar.  
  
Finally, Ruby announced that she was "all tuckered out" and had to sit down for a while. This announcement was met with a chorus of disappointed groans and pleas for more songs.  
  
But Ruby said she was sticking to her guns.  
  
"Work's done. Fun starts!" she called out, making her way through the throng.  
  
She ended up at the table where Root was sitting and without so much as a how-de-do, slipped an arm around her shoulders and sat down on her lap.  
  
"Buy me a drink, honey and I'm yours for the night," Ruby said flirtatiously, her long, painted fingernails tickling the back of Root's earlobe.  
  
"Don't you sass me darlin'," Root replied with a crooked smile, her hands slipping around Ruby's waist. "You don't belong to no one."  
  
"That's most likely true," Ruby teased back. "But you're the only one in this whole damn place I'd be caught dead with."  
  
"That a fact? Hardly sounds like a compliment."  
  
"Trust me. It is," Ruby breathed huskily, pushing Root's hat off her head and capturing her mouth in a sensuous kiss, as those watching whooped and hooted.  
  
Root didn't need their encouragement. She didn't give a damn, either. She closed her eyes, pulled Ruby's body closer and deepened their kiss, feeling the desire building inside her. They kissed for a few minutes, then Ruby pulled back slightly, took Root's head in her hands and pushed it downwards until the gunslinger's face was buried in Ruby's cleavage. After a few seconds of that, Ruby pulled away again, moved her hands to Root's shoulders and forced her back in her chair. Then she laughed, rested her forehead against Root's and nuzzled her playfully.  
  
Root grimaced and shoved the singer off her lap.  
  
"You ain't no angel," Root said, leaning over to retrieve her hat from the floor.  
  
"Never said I was," Ruby replied with a toss of her head, then flounced off to the bar, returning with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.  
  
She poured one, emptied it in one quick swig, then filled both glasses.  
  
"Let's see who ends up under the table first," she said, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.  
  
Root eyed her carefully, adjusted her hat at a rakish angle and reached for her glass.  
  
"Yes. Let's."  
  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

 

Root woke up in a messy bed, lying on her back, her arms thrown out to the side. She was wearing some of her clothes, but the rest were on a nearby chair with her gun belt lying on top of them. She quickly reached for one of her pistols and pulled it under the sheets, just before Ruby came back into the room.

"Well good morning darlin'," the singer greeted her cheerily.

"What the hell happened last night?" Root growled, her finger resting on the trigger of the gun.

"Not much," came the answer. "You were too drunk."

Root sat up in the bed.

"Well that would explain the headache," she said.

"I'll get you some coffee."

"Hang on," said Root, pulling out the gun and pointing it at Ruby. "Where's my money?"

"I ain't touched your money."

"Sit down." Root nodded toward the end of the bed. "Right there."

Ruby obeyed with a smile. Root got out of the bed and still holding the pistol on the singer, checked the pockets of her clothes on the chair. Sure enough, everything was still there. She walked over to where Ruby was sitting.

"Where are my boots?"

"Downstairs. I took them down to get them shined for you. Is that OK?"

Root stared at her for a moment, then lowered the gun.

"Yeah, that's swell," she answered.

Ruby reached out and slipped her arms around Root's waist, pulling her closer.

"Mmmm, you want me to draw you a bath?" she asked. "I could wash your hair for you."

Root pulled away. "No thanks," she said.

"Most women out here wear their hair up," Ruby said, leaning against the bedpost. "They don't wear it down like that."

"Well, I like it down."

"Where'd you come from anyway?"

Root didn't answer. She went over to the chair and began pulling on the rest of her clothes. Where had she come from? She didn't know. She turned back to Ruby again.

"Boots."

"Right," Ruby replied, getting up and going downstairs. She reappeared a few minutes later with the polished boots and a mug of coffee. Root took a long sip and eyed the singer appraisingly.

"We'll do this again soon."

"Maybe we will," Ruby replied with a wink. "You kiss nice. I wonder what else you're good at."

Root was just about to answer when someone knocked on the door. She quickly pulled one of her guns and motioned to Ruby to open the door. It was Tom. He apologized for bothering them so early.

"Mr. Haskell wants to see you," he told Root.

"Who's Haskell?" she asked, as Tom and Ruby exchanged glances.

"Well, he's the local cattle baron," Tom explained. "He seems to know you, ma'am. Says for you to get over there pronto."

Root picked up her hat and holstered her gun. Then she slipped an arm around Ruby's waist, pulled her close and kissed her before putting on the hat and leaving the room.

Tom walked down the stairs with Root, clearing his throat.

"You know we have other ladies here," he said. "Ruby's not available every night."

"I don't give a damn," Root replied with a tight smile. "Which one is Haskell's ranch?"

"Oh, he has a place in town," Tom responded quickly. "That big mansion down the way. That's his."

Root went outside and squinted in the midday sun. She was happy to see that Python had been attended to during the night and brought around to the front of the saloon for her. She rode off to the big mansion, where she was greeted by two men with long guns and surly expressions.

"I'm here to see Haskell," she told them, volunteering her name. One of the men took Python's bridle and the other helped her down from her mount.

"He's waitin'," the taller guard told her as he escorted her to the front door and let her inside.

Root walked in, removing her riding gloves as she walked down the hall. There was a large dining room at the end of it. A well-dressed, middle-aged man was sitting at the table, drinking from a china cup and saucer. He motioned Root to sit down across from him.

"Welcome to Euphoria," he said in a clipped accent. "I was beginning to worry that you might not show up at all."

Wordlessly, Root removed her hat, pulled back the chair and sat down. She didn't want to speak until she knew what the hell was going on.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Haskell asked. "You look hungry."

"I'd be much obliged," Root replied. Breakfast seemed a safe topic of conversation.

"Miranda, bring my friend Root here some breakfast," Haskell called to a young, auburn-haired woman who was standing near the doorway.

She disappeared and soon came back with a plate of bacon, eggs, toast and potatoes, which she placed in front of Root.

"Thank you kindly ma'am," Root smiled at the young woman.

Haskell smiled as well.

"That's my daughter," he said proudly. "She's not married ... yet."

Root was tempted to ask why that would be her business but decided to hold her tongue. Instead, she put a forkful of bacon into her mouth and chewed, hoping that Haskell would further illuminate her while she did so.

He pulled out a pipe and began stuffing it with tobacco. He didn't seem in too much of a hurry to get down to business. Root moved to the eggs, then the potatoes, then picked up a piece of toast.

"Plate spinner," Haskell remarked dryly, holding the pipe in his left hand in a genteel manner.

"Pardon me?"

"Your eating shows an ordered, methodical mind," Haskell said with a smile as he lit his pipe. "You break things down into tasks and apply logic systematically."

He put the pipe between his lips and puffed once, twice. Then he removed the pipe again and smiled.

"I can see already that what I've been told about you is, as we say out here, dead accurate."

"And what have you been told?"

"That you have a way with numbers that's nothing less than magical."

Numbers? Magical? What the hell? Root finished the toast and wiped her fingers with a napkin.

"And that's why I'm here," she said, in a tone that could be either a question or an answer, take your pick.

"Indeed," he replied. Puff. Puff.

"Your facility with higher mathematics makes you the ideal candidate for some work that's underway at my ranch. I want you meet with my associate, Mr. Orwell. He's working on a project for me."

Root nodded sagely, although she still had no idea of what exactly she was being roped into.

"When can I meet with this Mr. Orwell?" she asked in what she hoped was a casual manner.

"We can go now, if you are done with your breakfast," Haskell replied with a smile, standing up from his chair.

"Hugo!" he called out loudly, and one of the surly guards appeared at the doorway.

"Bring round the carriage for Root and myself," he instructed the man. "We're heading out to the ranch."

The carriage ride gave Haskell an opportunity to fill Root in on some details of his project. He had about three thousand head of cattle but he wasn't exactly sure of the numbers. His associate Orwell was trying to build a counting machine to keep better track of them.

"A counting machine?" asked Root. "It's my understanding that such a device has existed for centuries and that the Chinese, for instance, are quite practiced in its use."

"I can see you are an educated person, like myself," Haskell answered with a smile. "My new machine will be much bigger and faster than a simple abacus. And it will do all the counting for us, once it's finished."

The carriage pulled up the long road to the ranch and stopped in front of a large barn. Haskell and Root were just climbing out of the carriage when a tall, dark-haired man emerged from the barn to greet them. Root gave him a quick once over, taking in his grimy overalls, rolled up sleeves and goggle-type glasses.

The man pushed his goggles up on his head and offered Root a handshake.

"Orwell," he said, by way of greeting. "You must be Root."

She smiled as Orwell led her and Haskell into the barn. Soon, she was looking at a tall contraption made of turning wheels that reminded her of the inside of a pocket watch. But instead of ticking, the machine made a creaking, clunking sound. There was a small steam engine attached to the front of it and the whole thing was sitting on a wheeled platform.

Orwell smiled proudly, holding his long canvas gloves in one hand, which was planted on his hip.

"Well, what do think?" he asked, as Root began walking around the machine, surveying its workings.

She moved her hat back on her head and stared at the turning wheels.

"I think I need to see your calculations," she said after a few minutes. "And I think we need some oil here."

Orwell darted over to his work bench, where he grabbed a large open book and brought it to Root. She quickly scanned the pages, which were full of hand-written algebraic equations, scrawled notes and question marks. Lots of question marks. Root's brain was already doing computations. After a few minutes she closed the book and looked up at the expectant faces of Mssrs. Haskell and Orwell.

"So can you help?" Haskell asked, holding his pipe in his left hand again.

"Absolutely."

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

  
  
That afternoon found Root back in town, picking up some supplies at the dry goods store, including a couple of new shirts and some handkerchiefs. That taken care of, she decided to find herself lodgings for the night.  
  
There were three hotels in Euphoria and with what Haskell had agreed to pay her, Root could afford to book into the most expensive one, The Euclid.  
   
An ostler named George greeted Root as she rode up, quickly taking Python's bridle and giving Root a hand to dismount. She flipped him a gold piece in response. Never hurts to make some friends in a new town.  
  
"Treat my horse real good," Root said with a wink, and George nodded as the gunslinger removed her hat, flipped back her long hair with a quick shake of her head, then replaced the hat and walked into the hotel.  
  
The owner showed her to her room, which had a nice big four-poster bed and an even nicer claw-foot bathtub. Root wasn't sure which she should climb into first. The bed looked mighty inviting but ...  
  
"I'll get one of the gals to bring you some hot water," the hotel owner said, reading Root's mind.  
  
He left and Root began disrobing, removing her hat first, then the long coat, then her gun belt, then the boots. By the time she was getting to her shirt buttons, there was a knock on the door.  
  
A young woman entered, carrying a large jug of water. She didn't speak or make eye contact as she emptied it into the tub, then left and came back several more times, repeating the process until there was a fair bit of water in the tub. She poured in some cooler water from a pitcher on the wash stand and made sure the temperature was OK before Root got in. The young woman then set about making a fire in the fireplace.   
  
Once that was accomplished, the woman returned to Root and began washing her back and neck. Then she picked up the pitcher again and rinsed Root's hair. Her hands began massaging the gunslinger's long neck and worked up to her head, where her fingers stroked and rubbed until Root sighed and leaned back in the tub.  
  
Still, the other woman didn't speak. She began working soap into Root's hair, then rinsing it, taking her time and making sure all the soap was rinsed out thoroughly. When she finished, she began massaging Root's shoulders.  
  
Reaching back, Root grabbed the servant's wrists and pulled her over to the side of the tub, forcing the woman to meet her gaze.  
  
"What's your name?" Root asked her gently.  
  
"Vala," came the answer. "Am I not pleasing you?'  
  
"You're doing fine," said Root.   
  
"Would you like me to get in your bed now?"  
  
"I'd rather you just talked with me."  
  
"Talk about what?"  
  
"Whatever you like. This town. The people. Yourself."  
  
"There's not much to tell, ma'am."  
  
"Call me Root."  
  
Vala looked down at Root's long, slender fingers.  
  
"You have nice hands," she said.  
  
"So do you. Help me out, please."  
  
Root got out of the tub and Vala wrapped a towel around her and combed her hair. After that, Root got dressed while Vala went downstairs to fetch her a dinner tray. They sat at the table together while Root ate.  
  
"So tell me what you think of Haskell," Root prompted the younger woman.  
  
"He's rich," she replied. "Some people like him. Some don't."  
  
"Why does he have guards?"  
  
"Because he's rich. And because of the people who don't like him."  
  
Root smiled.  
  
"What about Ruby, the singer? Do you know her?"  
  
"Of course," came the reply. "Everyone knows Ruby."   
  
"Does she have a lover?"  
  
"She has many. But there's a man..."  
  
"A man?"  
  
"His name is Neko. When he comes to town, Ruby doesn't see anyone else."  
  
"Who is this man?"  
  
Vala's eyes widened.  
  
"He's a bad man. The last time he was in town, he shot one of Ruby's lovers in a gunfight."  
  
"So why didn't the sheriff arrest him?"  
  
"No one tangles with Neko. Not even the sheriff."  
  
Root picked up her tea cup and leaned back in her chair.  
  
"OK, that's enough about Ruby. What about you?"  
  
Vala blushed. "I told you ma'am."  
  
"Root."  
  
"Root," Vala looked down. "I don't have much of a story to tell."  
  
"Everyone has a story."  
  
"Can't imagine mine would be much interest to a gunslinger."  
  
"I'm interested in most everything. Tell me."  
  
So Vala spun out her sad tale. Her parents were from the Islands but they settled in Euphoria, hoping to make a living from a small farm on the outskirts of town. But life was hard and they struggled. There were a series of droughts and they ended up losing the farm. Vala was orphaned at 10, taken in by a foster family and then sold to the hotel owner as an indentured servant. She was expected to marry the owner's youngest son, a mean, stupid man named Amos. Vala hoped Amos would drink himself to death before that ever happened but he seemed to be lurching on, regardless.  
  
Vala finished her story with a sigh, got up from the table and began collecting the dinner dishes and putting them back on the tray.  
  
"Told you it wasn't much of a story," she said.  
  
"You don't have to marry a man you hate," Root said quietly as Vala picked up the tray.  
  
"Yes, I do," Vala replied. "I have no other choice."  
  
"There's always a choice."  
  
Vala smiled for the first time, but it was the smile of one resigned to her fate.  
  
"Bad or worse. What kind of choice is that?" she asked.  
  
Root didn't reply.   
  
"Will you be needing anything else this evening?" Vala asked, as she headed for the door.  
  
"No, thanks Vala. I think I'll be turning in early."  
  
"Well you have the best room in the hotel for a good night's sleep. It's dead quiet."  
  
"Sounds perfect," Root said, stretching her arms and stifling a yawn. "Have George bring my horse around after breakfast tomorrow. I want to get an early start."   
  
Vala nodded and reached for the door handle, but Root held up one hand to stop her and quickly walked over to join her at the door.   
  
"Here," Root said softly, placing a gold piece on the tray. "Keep this for yourself."  
  
Vala smiled and was gone.                 
  
   
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

  
  
Work on the counting machine took up most of Root's time for the next several days. Once Orwell explained the machine's various configurations to her, she was able to come up with some new algebraic equations that worked much better and cut out quite a few intermediate steps. Orwell was most appreciative of her help -- calling her math "elegant" -- and Haskell seemed quite pleased as well.  
  
The ranch owner would stop by at least once a day to see how his two brilliant associates were doing. He was anxious for them to get the machine out into the field, as it were, for a demonstration. Orwell was reluctant to do so. He wanted the machine to be perfect before he introduced it to its first test.  
  
Root was less rigid in her philosophy. She often spent half the day trying to convince her colleague to "just try it" rather than fine-tuning everything obsessively, which seemed to be his way about things.  
  
Despite their philosophical differences, the two of them worked quite well together and Root genuinely enjoyed Orwell's company. He was quick-witted, enthusiastic and loved tinkering with the machine's many moving parts. He also gave Root a thorough explanation of how the steam engine worked, starting with the theory and history of steam machines and describing every piston, cylinder and flywheel in great detail.  
  
Many times he'd dash over to his work table and start rifling through the books and papers strewn about there, then dash back to the machine to make some adjustment or other. As Root watched, amused, he'd pull on his long canvas gloves and bend over the engine, then stop suddenly to look around, asking just where in the devil his goggles had gotten to.  
  
Smiling, Root would kindly point out that they were, indeed, still sitting on top of his head. He'd put his hand up to his head, grin sheepishly, then pull down the goggles and get right back to work.  
  
Finally, Orwell announced to Root one day that the machine was ready for a dry run. They harnessed a couple of draft horses to the front of the wheeled platform and pulled the entire contraption and its attached steam engine out of the barn, then down the road and into one of the pastures. The ground was bumpy so it was slow going, but eventually they made it out to where they wanted  to set things up. The horses were unharnessed and moved well away, in case the engine should spook them.  
  
Orwell smiled broadly at Root, took a deep breath and started the steam engine. As the boiler began to heat up, he ran around the machine, checking all the wheels and gears. After a while, the boiler began to make a rumbling noise and shortly after that, there was a hissing sound that got louder and louder as steam began to come out of the exhaust pipe.  
  
Root could see Orwell smiling broadly with satisfaction as the wheels on the machine began to turn, slowly at first, then gradually faster. Some of the cows lying on the grass nearby got up and stared curiously at the machine. Some of them began mooing, seemingly agitated by the noisy contraption.  
  
"What do we do now?" Root asked. "Can we start the counting protocol?"  
  
"First we need to move the optical lens in place," Orwell responded, grabbing the side of the huge, convex piece of glass and moving it so that it was oriented toward the largest group of cows.  
  
That done, Orwell stood back, planted a fist in his hip and smiled proudly.  
  
"It's ready," he said. "Go fetch Haskell."  
  
Root was just about to mount Python when she heard a terrifying sound. The steam engine was hissing louder and louder, making an angry, high-pitched noise. Steam was pouring out the sides and top of the boiler and the whole mass of machinery -- steam engine and all -- was rattling and shaking angrily.  
  
Orwell was trying to shut the boiler down but it was no use. Root yelled to him just as her horse reared up and nearly trampled her trying to get away. The rest was a blur as she was knocked down and a huge explosion shook the ground.  
  
At first, all Root could hear was a high-pitched ringing sound in her ears. She slowly got to her feet and made her way over to where the machine had been.  
  
Through the cloud of dissipating, humid steam, she could see Orwell lying on the ground. He'd been thrown clear but had also been burned by the steam. Her heart pounding, Root dragged him away from the machine as best she could and pulled off his goggles. She wasn't even sure he was alive.  
  
His eyelids fluttered, then opened.  
  
"Blasted thing," he sputtered. "Now we'll have to start all over."  
  
Then he passed out. Trying not to panic, Root looked around for help. Some of the cowhands from a nearby pasture had heard the explosion and were racing over on their horses. Someone brought around a wagon and they lifted Orwell's unconscious body into it and headed for town. Root followed on her horse.  
  
She spent the next few hours waiting outside the doctor's office with Haskell and Miranda, who had accompanied her father there after hearing of the accident. Miranda was crying into a handkerchief, which seemed to surprise the cattle baron.  
  
"I had no idea," he told Root quietly. "I've never even seen them together."  
  
Root didn't reply. But Miranda's emotional reaction didn't seem that odd to her. She knew -- somewhere deep inside -- that two people could have a strong romantic attraction and those around them might be completely oblivious. Oh well, whatever their reasons for keeping their romance a secret, it was certainly out of the bag now. Root took a clean handkerchief from her waistcoat pocket and handed it to Miranda.  
  
Just then, the doctor emerged and joined them outside his office.  
  
"He'll survive if he avoids infection," the doctor said, wiping his hands on a towel. "He's bandaged up pretty good for now. We'll have to change the bandages in a couple of days."  
  
"Can I see him?" Miranda asked.  
  
"Not today," the doctor said. "Maybe tomorrow. We'll have to see."  
  
Haskell put his arm around his daughter.  
  
"He's in good hands," he told her gently. "Let's go home."  
  
He tipped his hat and nodded toward Root, then walked to his carriage, where Hugo was waiting.  
  
Root watched them leave. She was feeling a gut-churning mixture of emotions. Anger, frustration, maybe some guilt too. What had they done wrong? Maybe she shouldn't have pushed Orwell to try out the machine. Maybe it hadn't been ready. She pulled Python's reins from the hitching post and began walking back to the Euclid, mulling over her feelings on the way.  
  
Arriving at the hotel, she took the horse to the hitching post and was just tying him up when she heard a loud commotion coming from the front of the hotel. Vala was being dragged out the front door by a stocky man, who was cursing at her and slapping her head with his large, meaty hands.  
  
"You come when I tell ya!" he spat. "Come with me now or I'll beat you so hard ..."  
  
It only took a split second for Root to draw her guns and squeeze off two shots that ricocheted off the awning above the startled man's head, causing splintered bits of wood to glance off him. He glared at Root, his hand still grasping Vala's arm.  
  
"Let her go," Root told him in a steady voice.  
  
Several people who'd been near the hotel were now standing frozen, watching the scene with alarm. George, who'd come to get Root's horse, stood a few feet away, his eyes fixed on the sobbing Vala.  
  
"You almost hit me," the stocky man snarled.  
  
"Next time, I'll be aiming at your head," Root replied, sliding her guns back into their holsters. "Let her go."  
  
The man dropped his grip on Vala's arm and charged toward Root, pulling back his fist. He swung hard and Root ducked under the punch, then slammed her fist into his gut, doubling him over.  Root grabbed the scruff of his neck, kneed him hard and threw him bodily into the wall. It should have been over then, but he decided to try again, swinging wildly as he lunged toward her. She ducked again, stepped around him, then waited for him to turn around again.  
  
He did. She punched him squarely in the jaw and he fell backwards into the horses' drinking trough.  
  
Root took off her hat, flipped back her hair with a toss of her head, then replaced the hat and walked over to Vala.  
  
"I'm guessing that was Amos," she said.  
  
She put her arm around Vala and took her back into the hotel, while George set about pulling Amos out of the trough.  
  
The adrenaline was starting to wear off by the time Root left the hotel and walked over to the saloon for a drink. There was a large, rowdy crowd inside but quite a few heads turned to look when she walked in. She ignored them and made her way over to Tom.  
  
"Whiskey," she said.  
  
He poured her one and she slammed it back and asked for another, then went to sit down at a table. It wasn't long before Ruby joined her.  
  
"I hear you've had an eventful day," the singer said.  
  
"You hear right."  
  
"Remind me not to piss you off," Ruby said, producing a bottle and topping up Root's glass.  
  
"OK, don't piss me off."  
  
"Black Betty was in here earlier, asking about you," Ruby said quietly. "Thought you should know."  
  
Root threw back the whiskey and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  
  
"Thanks, darlin'," she replied. "Who the hell is Black Betty?"  
  
"Bounty hunter. Seemed awfully interested in you."  
  
Root arched an eyebrow. A bounty hunter was looking for her? What the hell had she done?  
  
"Did you tell her anything?" she asked the singer.  
  
"Of course not," Ruby frowned. "I've gotten used to having you around. It'd break my heart to see you on the end of a rope."  
  
She got up and went to her place beside the piano, where she launched into a ditty about a lonesome girl pining for her long lost sweetheart, a cowboy who found himself on wrong side of the law and ended up "swinging from a tree."  
  
Root glowered at her, drained the rest of her drink and headed back to the hotel. George was waiting near the front door.  
  
"Black Betty's in town," he said.  
  
"I heard."  
  
"It won't take her long to find you. Only three hotels. She hasn't come by here yet but she will."  
  
"Do me a favor George," Root said, then whispered instructions to the ostler.  
  
He nodded and Root went upstairs to her room. She drew her guns and sat by the window in the dark, watching for George to give her the signal they'd agreed on. After about half an hour, she saw his lantern flicker on and off, sending her a message in Morse code.  
  
Root licked her lips. She needed to find out just what Black Betty wanted her for, and to do that, she'd have to take the bounty hunter alive. She moved behind the door and waited, her gun gripped backwards and upside-down in her hand. Sure enough, she soon heard a tiny creak on the stairs, then the softest of footsteps in the hallway outside. The door handle was turning oh so slowly, the door beginning to open...  
  
Root slammed the gun's butt-end into the back of the intruder's head and Black Betty went down hard. She was smaller than expected and it only took a few minutes for Root to drag the unconscious woman across the floor and tie her into a chair. There was a small fire going in the fireplace. Root picked up a poker and shoved it into the embers. Then she turned around to face her prisoner, who appeared to be coming to.  
  
The gunslinger leaned against the dresser, her arms crossed in front of her, and waited.  
  
"I'd hazard a guess that you're Black Betty," she said when the dark-haired woman finally opened her eyes.  
  
"You'd be dead right."  
  
"Well that gets the first part of the introductions out of the way."  
  
"Root."  
  
"Yes, you found me. Now, I need to know why."  
  
The bounty hunter looked down at her bound wrists and tried to move them. She clenched her jaw for a moment, then spoke again.  
  
"I have to bring you back."  
  
The gunslinger smirked and raised her eyebrows.  
  
"I don't think you are quite understanding the dynamic here. You see, you're not going anywhere and I have lots of questions."  
  
She walked over to the fireplace and picked up the poker, then knelt in front of the chair, unbuttoned Black Betty's vest and pulled open her collar.  
  
"And you're going to tell me what I want to know."  
  
"Root..."  
  
"What's the bounty for?" she asked, holding the poker near her captive's neck.  
  
Black Betty closed her eyes and swallowed hard, bracing herself.  
  
"The bounty... how much is it?" Root asked. "Is it higher if you take me alive?"  
  
The other woman drew in a breath, then whispered something softly. Root leaned in, the poker closer than ever.  
  
"What did you say?" Root said, frowning. "Four? Four what? Four dollars or four hundred?"  
  
Black Betty took another breath as their eyes locked, their faces almost touching.  
  
"Four alarm fire," she said.


	5. Chapter 5

  
  
The room seemed to be spinning as Root fell backwards, dropping the poker. It landed on the floor, luckily, not on Root herself or on the woman tied to the chair.  
  
Dazed, Root got to her feet and held on to the dresser to steady herself. Her mind was racing, the words she'd just heard reverberating in her brain.  
  
Four alarm fire. The phrase seemed to have a monumental weight. It had things attached to it. The woman's voice, the way she stared into Root's eyes, almost as though she were trying to will Root to remember...  
  
Remember what? Jumbled images were flooding Root's head. Shattered glass. A mechanical, disembodied voice. Loud, rapid gunfire. Zeroes and ones. Blood.  
  
Then there were those eyes. Dark and deep. And that mouth. Resolute. Unwavering. The images started to double over on themselves, coming faster and faster. It was too much. Root clamped her hands against her forehead, pushing down until the heels of her palms were pressed into her eye sockets. She wanted it to stop.  
  
After a few minutes, she looked up again. Black Betty was shouting something but Root couldn't make out the words. She was too busy staring at the hot poker, which had fallen onto the rug, causing it to smoke and smoulder. Root snapped back to attention again, quickly grabbing the poker. She was heading to the fireplace with it when someone kicked in the door.  
  
The sheriff burst into the room, followed by his deputy, then Amos and the hotel owner. The sheriff and deputy were pointing their guns at Root.  
  
"Drop it," the sheriff motioned towards the poker.  
  
Root obliged and put her hands up.  
  
"Howdy boys," she greeted them with a smile. "Nice guns."  
  
She went without a fight and soon found herself deposited in the town's small jail, with the deputy staring at her from the other side of the bars.  
  
"Funny, I was dead sure you'd end up in here," he snarled, sticking a plug of tobacco into his mouth before slouching off.  
  
"Won't be here long," Root replied under her breath.  
  
She craned her neck to get a view of the front of the office, where Black Betty was engaged in an argument with the sheriff.  
  
"You have no right to arrest her. She's my prisoner," the bounty hunter was saying, leaning across the desk.  
  
"Your prisoner?" the sheriff laughed. "That's not what it looked like to me."  
  
He pulled out a pipe and lit it, then put his feet up on his desk.  
  
"This here is Euphoria. My jurisdiction," the sheriff said. "She's under arrest for assault and battery against Mr. Kotlin's son Amos."  
  
He took a puff from his pipe and eyed Black Betty with a smile.  
  
"You can have her when I'm done with her," he said.  
  
Black Betty glared at him so hard, it seemed she was trying to melt him down, reduce his bones and flesh to the size of a pebble.  
  
"I want my gun back," she said finally, tapping her thumb on the desk top.  
  
The sheriff slid the gun and holster across the desk toward her, his face a hard mask of dislike.  
  
"And I want you out of town by sunrise," he replied.  
  
Black Betty fastened her gun belt around her waist and walked over to Root's cell.  
  
"We ain't done here. Not by a longshot," she said in a quiet, even voice. "I'm coming back for you."  
  
"You know where to find me," Root replied as the bounty hunter stalked out of the office.  
  
The next morning, George showed up at the jail with Haskell, who managed to get Root sprung in about five minutes.  
  
"Didn't take much convincing," Haskell explained as he and Root left the sheriff's office. "George vouched for you and so did I. There were several witnesses who saw what happened, as well."  
  
"What about Vala?" Root asked, pulling on her long coat as they walked. "Is she OK?"  
  
"Is that the young lady involved?" Haskell asked. "I'm not sure."  
  
They walked up to the doctor's office and asked if Orwell was doing any better. He was sitting up in bed, his face and hands swathed in bandages.  
  
"Well, isn't this a fine kettle of fish," he greeted them in a cheerful voice.  
  
"Don't joke, Orwell," Haskell replied sternly. "You could have been killed yesterday. Both of you."  
  
He turned to look at Root, who took a breath but didn't speak. She already felt bad enough about what happened.  
  
"We'll start over," Orwell said earnestly. "We have all the calculations and the plans for the machine back at the barn. It's just a matter of rebuilding the physical components..."  
  
"Let's discuss this later," Haskell said firmly. "This is partly my fault. I pushed you too hard."  
  
Orwell began to protest but the rancher put up his hand to silence him.  
  
"I'm bringing you to my home to convalesce. Miranda wishes to care for you."  
  
Orwell looked alarmed but Haskell just smiled.  
  
"Among the other things we shall be discussing later," he said, reaching for his hat as he stood up.  
  
He took Root's arm and led her outside Orwell's room.  
  
"I want you to stay at my house as well," he said. "You get up to far too much mischief on your own. Besides, Kotlin won't have you at his hotel anymore."  
  
He turned before leaving and smiled at the gunslinger.  
  
"Amos Kotlin is a no-account thug," he said. "You did the right thing."  
  
Root returned to the hotel to pick up the few things she'd left there and was met by Kotlin, the hotel owner, at the front desk. He handed her a burlap bag with her things inside.  
  
"Don't want you back here, gunslinger," he growled. "You caused enough trouble."  
  
"Seems I ended some trouble, as well."  
  
"Not for me you didn't. That servant girl Vala's run off with the hotel ostler. Now I got two employees to replace."  
  
"Guess I picked a good day to check out then," Root smirked, swinging the bag over her shoulder as she walked outside and unhitched Python from his post.  
  
She mounted the horse and was just turning him around to head over to Haskell's place, when she spotted a figure in the distant desert, heading toward town. Root squinted in the bright sun. It was someone dressed in black, on a dark horse. She held up a hand to shade her eyes. No, it couldn't be. She brought Python around again and headed out to meet the rider.  
  
It was just outside the edge of town that they came face to face.  
  
"Thought you were supposed to leave town by sunrise," Root said, her gun pointed at her adversary.  
  
"I did," Black Betty replied. "Never said I wouldn't come back."  
  
The bounty hunter leaned forward in her saddle, one hand resting lazily on the horn, the other on her holstered gun.  
  
"I saw your friends this morning, heading west," she said. "Seemed to be in a big hurry."  
  
Root drew in a breath. She knew Black Betty meant George and Vala.  
  
"If you touched them..."  
  
Black Betty frowned.  
  
"Now why would I do that? Ain't no bounty on their pretty heads."  
  
She spit a tiny bit of chewing tobacco onto the ground and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.  
  
"Not yet anyway," she added.  
  
She swung her leg around and dismounted, seemingly unfazed by the gun Root was pointing at her.  
  
"Anyway, your friends told me you got sprung. So I decided to come back and collect you. After all, you were my prisoner in the first place."  
  
The bounty hunter walked over to Root's horse and grabbed the bridle.  
  
"What do ya say we go have drink? Talk this over. It'd be a lot easier," she said, her dark eyes fixed on the gunslinger's.  
  
Root's finger tightened on the trigger. She was rather disconcerted by Black Betty's cool demeanor. But she was also intrigued. Maybe Black Betty could be bought off with no blood spilled. Root twirled the gun in her hand and slipped it back into its holster.  
  
"OK," she said. "One drink. No guns."  
  
Root saw the ghost of a smile flicker across the other woman's face.  
  
"Good enough."  
  
  
  
 


	6. Chapter 6

  
  
Once inside the saloon, the two women unbuckled their gun belts and laid them on the floor next to the table, then put their long coats and hats on top of them.  
  
Black Betty held up her hands with a slight smile and spread out her fingers.  
  
"Better pat me down," she said. "Make sure I'm not holding out on you."  
  
Root slid her hands along the other woman's compact torso, then down her legs, stopping at the boots.  
  
"What's this?" she asked.  
  
"Whoops," Black Betty said, bending down.  
  
She pulled a Bowie knife out of her boot, and with one quick movement drove it into the top of the table next to them.  
  
Root grimaced and shoved the table away with her foot.  
  
"Your turn," the bounty hunter said, grabbing the gunslinger's shoulders and forcing her to turn around.  
  
Root felt Black Betty pressing up against her from behind as she ran her hands down her long, slim torso. For a brief second, those strange, unbidden images were back, making the gunslinger catch her breath in surprise. That same body, against hers. That breath on her neck. Those hands ... she'd felt them on her body before.  
  
Root flinched.  
  
"Sorry," Black Betty whispered. "Almost done."  
  
Her hands moved around Root's waist and then onto her hips, where they lingered, well maybe just a little bit longer than they needed to. Annoyed, Root began to turn around, but the bounty hunter was moving down now, sliding her hands along the long trousers, down to the boots.  
  
Black Betty stood up.  
  
"Just the two guns, huh?" she asked. "No other accessories today?"  
  
Root glared at her, then sat down and called to the barmaid, Perl, for some whiskey.  
  
The young, pretty blonde woman strolled over with a bottle and two glasses.  
  
"Hi, Root. Who's your friend?" she asked, pouring their drinks.  
  
"She ain't my friend," Root replied.  
  
"She ain't interested neither," Black Betty interjected, avoiding eye contact with Perl.  
  
The barmaid drew her mouth into a pout, then walked sullenly back to the bar.  
  
"You didn't have to be so hostile," Root told her. "She's a nice gal."  
  
"That may well be, but I'm not here to waste my time on confections. I'm trying to focus on my project."  
  
"Project? That sounds mighty pretentious. What project is that?"  
  
"You, Root. You're my project," Black Betty said, tapping her thumb on the edge of her glass. "You fascinate me. Still."  
  
"Still? You don't even know me."  
  
"That ain't true at all. I know you plenty," Black Betty replied. "And you know me, too. Maybe better than I know myself."  
  
She lifted her glass in salute, then took a long sip.  
  
"You aren't making a lick of sense," Root said with a frown.  
  
"A lick?" Black Betty sniggered, then wiped her mouth with her hand.  
  
Root found the gesture unsettling. There was something so intense, so strangely familiar about the woman sitting across from her. For a moment they just stared at each other, their eyes locked. Then Black Betty broke eye contact and looked away.  
  
"Look, I told you I was coming back for you," she said.  
  
"I remember."  
  
"So, are you going to come quietly or do we have to fight it out?"  
  
"Well, that all depends," Root replied, leaning back casually in her chair. "I'll fight if I have to. But I'd prefer to find another way around it. How much is the bounty on my head?"  
  
Black Betty looked surprised.  
  
"You trying to buy me off?"  
  
"Why not?" Root replied with a slight tilt of her head. "I got money, gold. I can make it worth your while to leave town."  
  
"I told you. I ain't leaving without you. I aim to bring you back."  
  
"Back where?"  
  
"Where you belong, obviously."  
  
"Well, I like it here. I got proper business going on -- a project of my own, you might say."  
  
Black Betty sighed and leaned forward across the table.  
  
"Root, this isn't real."  
  
Root's reply was interrupted by Perl, who'd returned with the whiskey.  
  
"Another drink?" she asked.  
  
"No," Root answered, standing up. "We said one drink. Now we're done."  
  
Black Betty jumped to her feet as well, while Perl took a step back. For a second or two, the three of them stood perfectly still, then the bounty hunter grabbed the table and threw it over with a loud crash. Frightened, Perl scampered behind the bar as a hush fell over the rest of the saloon.  
  
The gunslinger raised an eyebrow and smiled. The bounty hunter stared back, unflinching, her muscles coiled like a snake. Then she sprang, knocking Root backwards onto the floor, where the two of them began grappling and rolling around. Root was surprised by the strength and agility of the smaller woman, who soon had her pinned down amongst the fallen chairs. Root kept struggling, which only seemed to excite her opponent, who responded by slamming her fist into the gunslinger's jaw.  
  
Fighting against losing consciousness, her head swimming, Root looked up into the face above hers. Black Betty seemed to be enjoying their brawl, smiling as she pressed herself into the flailing body beneath her, holding Root's arms down and clamping her shins against the long legs that were trying to kick her off. Soon, Root was panting with the effort, feeling a strange mixture of desire, excitement and desperation welling inside her as the struggle went on. She realized she was growing tired and if Black Betty hit her just one more time...  
  
"Stop fighting, Root," Black Betty was almost laughing. "You know you're no match for me hand to hand."  
  
Root tried to reach her gun belt but it was too far away, lying under the mound of her coat. Her fingers were soon wrapped around something else nearby. Root lifted up the whiskey bottle and smashed it into Black Betty's head. The bounty hunter slumped over and fell to the floor, unconscious.  
  
Root slowly got to her feet and dusted herself off, straightening her shirt and vest. Black Betty was lying next to the fallen table, with her arms flung out, blood trickling down her face.  
  
"Now look what you've done," Tom the bartender scolded, picking up the table and fallen chairs. "I haven't had a fight in this saloon in ... what Perl, a week?"  
  
"Two months," said Perl, kneeling down and lifting Black Betty's head into her lap, while glaring at Root. "Things been dead calm around here, until you came to town."  
  
The barmaid produced a handkerchief from inside her bodice and held it against the bounty hunter's face.  
  
 "You didn't have to hit her so hard," she said, shaking her head.  
  
"That a fact?" queried Root, her hand massaging her swollen jaw. "I kind of felt like I did have to hit her that hard. Her being on top of me and all."  
  
"Should I call the sheriff?" Tom asked.  
  
"No," Root said quickly, buckling her gun belt around her waist. "He told her to leave town. No telling what he'll do if he finds her back here."  
  
Root picked up her hat, then cast a glance over at Black Betty, who was making a weak, groaning sound. There was something about the way she looked, cradled in Perl's arms, that made Root feel sorry about hitting her. But she hadn't had much of a choice. If she'd let Black Betty take her... then where would she be? Probably at the end of a rope, like Ruby said.  
  
"Maybe we should get the doctor," Tom said.  
  
"Help me get her up," Root said to Perl.  
  
They pulled the stricken woman to her feet and carried her upstairs to one of the rooms, where they laid her on the bed.  
  
"Here," Root said, putting a gold piece in Perl's hand. "Go get the doctor. And tell Tom I'll pay for the mess."  
  
As Root opened the door to leave, she heard her name.  
  
"I'll be coming for you again," Black Betty was saying, in a calm, measured voice.  
  
Root turned to look at her, meeting the dark eyes of the bounty hunter with her own steady gaze.  
  
"I know."  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

  
  
Once settled in at Haskell's mansion, Root found a welcome diversion from her imbroglio with Black Betty. Orwell was still on the mend and was proving to be a rather impatient patient. Despite Miranda's attentions, which he seemed to appreciate, he was anxious to get back to work at the ranch and start reassembling the machine.  
  
Haskell tried to discourage him, saying he needed more time to recover from his burns and the trauma of almost being blown to bits in the explosion. Root stayed out of this argument, leaving the two of them to sort it out. She rode out to the ranch a few times to help the cowhands pick up the debris that was left in the pasture, and to see if anything could be salvaged. There were a few cranks and wheels that looked OK but most everything else had been destroyed.  
  
In the afternoons and evenings, Haskell would sit out on the veranda with Orwell and Root, drinking long glasses of sweet tea and discussing philosophy with them. Miranda would often play the piano in the parlor while they batted around the ideas of Bentham, Rousseau, Hume and Locke until night fell and the moon was high.  
  
One morning, Root came down to breakfast to find Orwell on his feet, rushing around excitedly with several books and papers under his arm.  
  
"We're heading up to the ranch today," he told her with a wide grin. "Haskell's finally given in and said I could get back to work."  
  
"Tired of listening to your whinging," interjected Haskell, who was just finishing his coffee. "It'll be good to have you out from underfoot."  
  
The next few days were spent going over the plans with Orwell, who was a man driven once inside his workshop. Finally, he handed Haskell a list of building materials they'd need to finish their project. The cattle baron perused the list in silence, then nodded.  
  
"I'll send a wagon to the lumber yard tomorrow to pick some of these things up," he said. "It will take a while for the lenses and the metal parts, though. Probably have to get them sent by train from out east."  
  
Once Haskell was gone, Orwell took Root's arm and led her over to his work bench. He carefully unfolded another set of plans and pointed to an odd design of a large box-like contraption, surrounded by measurements.  
  
"What do you think?" he asked.  
  
"What is it?" Root frowned.  
  
Orwell took a deep breath and fixed his gray-blue eyes on her, as though not quite sure whether he should confide in her.  
  
Finally he nodded, as if to convince himself, and put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Right after the explosion, when I passed out, I had a vision," he said, watching her reaction.  
  
Root raised an eyebrow.  
  
"A vision?"  
  
"More than that," he said, anxiously biting his bottom lip. "An epiphany."  
  
Root didn't reply. She wondered if he'd hit his head when he was thrown from the machine. She figured it was likely that he had.  
  
"Listen," he said. "Imagine that we could go back and fix whatever we did wrong."  
  
"You mean what we did wrong with the machine?"  
  
"With anything," he answered. "Imagine we could go back ... in time."  
  
Root looked down at the plans.  
  
"A time machine?" she asked. "Are you serious?"  
  
"Dead serious."  
  
"But, it's not possible," Root said, shaking her head.  
  
Orwell leaned in with a smile.  
  
"Anything's possible," he answered. "You can do anything, as long as you can dream it."  
  
Orwell swore Root to secrecy about his time machine idea. He was afraid Haskell would nix the plan, or worse, consider him "brain addled" and send him to a hospital for who knows how long. Root reluctantly agreed to keep the plan quiet, on the condition that Haskell's cattle counting machine took priority and Orwell's time machine remained a side project for, well, the time being.  
  
Her choice of words both delighted and amused Orwell, who responded with a wily grin and a wink before pulling on his goggles and turning back to his work bench.  
  
Some of the material for the new counting machine was brought to the ranch the next day, as promised. Another shipment of lumber was expected to come in by train from the west a few days later, but the train didn't come to Euphoria, so Root and Orwell rode out to meet it at another town several miles away.  
  
They were on their way back to the ranch with the lumber, Orwell handling the horse and wagon and Root riding Python alongside, when she spied a lone rider up ahead in the distance.  
  
"I'll handle this," Root told him, squinting in the sun as she focused on the rider, dressed completely in black, and the dark horse.  
  
She clicked her tongue at Python and they galloped hard toward the approaching rider, pulling up a short distance away.  
  
"You just don't give up, do you?" she asked, pointing a pistol at Black Betty.  
  
"Nope. It's not in my nature," the bounty hunter replied. "Or my job description."  
  
"How's your head?"  
  
"Got a few stitches, thanks. How's your jaw?"  
  
Root realized she was rubbing the side of her face. She immediately dropped her hand.  
  
"It's fine," she said.  
  
"So are you coming with me, or what?" Black Betty asked, pushing her hat up on her forehead.  
  
"Why in tarnation would I go anywhere with you?"  
  
"It'd be the polite thing to do," Black Betty replied. "I came a long way."  
  
"Then you'll have an equally long way to return," Root said, turning Python around and heading back towards Orwell and the wagon.  
  
She was about to put the spurs to the horse when a gunshot rang out. Root stopped and twisted around in her saddle just in time to see the bounty hunter's smoking gun, its barrel pointed skyward.  
  
"I'm done askin' nice," Black Betty said.  
  
Root felt the strange concoction of anger and adrenaline surge in her body. Her muscles tensed and her jaw tightened and she knew there were only two choices. Fight or flight. She chose the former, quickly bringing her horse around and running him straight at Black Betty. The bounty hunter responded by swinging her leg over her saddle and launching herself onto Root, grabbing her bodily and throwing both of them off the mount.  
  
They landed in the tall grass, where they rolled and rolled for several yards together. When they finished rolling, Black Betty got on top of Root and pinned her down.  
  
"Stop struggling!" Black Betty yelled, raising her fist, ready to strike.  
  
Root suddenly couldn't breathe. The bizarre, fragmented images were flooding back into her brain. It was the very same woman holding her down, but not here on the prairie. No, they were in bed, and Root was writhing under the body of Black Betty, who was biting, kissing and sucking her neck. They were moving desperately together, panting, moaning. Root could feel Black Betty's hand working on her, making her come.  
  
"Oh please," she could hear herself moaning, "Please, please... Sameen."  
  
She snapped back to reality and looked up, seeing Black Betty's face above her.  
  
"Sameen?" Root thought. "Who the hell is Sameen?"  
  
It made no sense at all. Not a lick. She stopped struggling.  
  
Black Betty's dark eyes softened and she dropped her fist. She let out a sigh. Then a shotgun muzzle appeared next to her head.  
  
"Get off her."  
  
It was Orwell, holding the gun on Black Betty, trying not to let his hands shake too much. The bounty hunter nodded and raised her arms slowly.  
  
"OK," she said. "I'm getting up. Just relax and don't shoot."  
  
Orwell took a couple of steps back as Black Betty stood up and moved away from Root.  
  
"We have a little disagreement here," Black Betty told him. "It's none of your concern. It's between me and her."  
  
"Hogwash," answered Orwell. "She's my business associate and you are interfering with our work."  
  
Black Betty picked up her hat from the ground and slapped it against her hand.    
  
"I got business too," she said gruffly. "And you are interfering with mine."  
  
Root got to her feet and brushed off the grass that was sticking to her clothes. The images were gone now but the confusion remained.  
  
"Enough," she said. "We need to settle this."  
  
"I told you, your money's no good," Black Betty protested.  
  
"Then we'll settle it another way," Root told her. "Pistols tomorrow at high noon."  
  
"You want a gunfight?"  
  
"That's usually what pistols are for. Are you backing down?"  
  
"No. I ain't," Black Betty said. "Should I bring one gun or two?"  
  
"Bring as many as you like," Root replied, remounting her horse. "You won't get a single shot off anyway."  
  
Black Betty whistled for her own horse. "Hey, Java!" she called as the horse trotted over.  
  
The bounty hunter jumped up onto her horse and brought it around to face her rival.  
  
"D'ya hear that?" she asked, winking at Root. "My horse's name is Java."  
  
"Whoop de do for you and your horse," answered Root.  
  
Black Betty laughed. "See you tomorrow," she said, then galloped off.  
  


	8. Chapter 8

  
  
That night saw Root at the Smalltalk Tavern, where she quickly got into a card game and managed to win a tidy pile of gold coins with very little effort. She took it as a sign of good luck, not that she needed any for tomorrow's gunfight. She was the quickest gun in these parts. Everybody said so, including Ruby, who was half-sitting on Root's lap with her arms around the gunslinger's neck.  
  
"I'm not busy tonight," she was telling Root as she nuzzled her. "Why'n't you come upstairs?"  
  
"Why aren't you singing?" Root asked, her eyes fixed on the card-player across the table.  
  
"OK, one song just for you, darlin'," the singer replied, planting a kiss on Root's temple and heading over to the piano.  
  
"Hit it, Darwin," she called to the bespectacled pianist, then launched into a honky tonk number about a woman named Bliss, a cowboy named Red and his horse, Scratch. Needless to say, things didn't turn out well for any of them and Red ended up dead.  
  
Ruby returned to the table and slid back onto Root's lap, removing the gunslinger's hat and planting a soft, lingering kiss on her mouth.  
  
"Your up-tempo songs are downright depressing," Root told her, grabbing her hat from Ruby's hand and putting it back on her head.  
  
"Tragedy sells," Ruby replied with a wink.  
  
"Yeah, but who's buying?" another voice interjected. It was Black Betty, drawing up a chair at the table.  
  
"Deal me in," she said, as Perl stood next to her chair, an arm draped around the bounty hunter's shoulders.  
  
"Haven't you suffered enough defeat for one day?" Root asked, regarding her opponent with a wry grin.  
  
"I don't mind," Black Betty replied. "It'll be your turn tomorrow."  
  
Root raised an eyebrow.  
  
"You sound awfully sure of yourself."  
  
Black Betty picked up her cards and looked them over.  
  
"You know what they call me back home?" she asked.  
  
"Perl calls you slow hand," Ruby laughed.  
  
"She does call me that," Black Betty said. "But that's got nothing to do with gunfighting."  
  
She turned up her cards. Three kings, two jacks. Root's smile faded.  
  
"They call me dead eye," Black Betty continued. "Cuz I'm a dead shot."  
  
"What you are is full of yourself," Root replied. "Like a trough full of slop."  
  
"Charming," said Black Betty, taking a swig of whiskey from her glass.    
  
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and locked eyes with Root once again.  
  
"They should call you dream girl," Black Betty remarked. "Cuz you're so cute and so seriously out of touch with reality."  
  
Root pushed Ruby off her lap, shoved her chair back with one quick movement and stood up, reaching for her guns.  
  
"Whoa, slow down there darlin'," Ruby said, trying to calm the gunslinger by moving in front of her and placing her hands on her shoulders. "Save it for tomorrow."  
  
Black Betty showed no reaction, except to reach across the table and drag the pile of coins towards herself. Then she leaned back in her chair and looking straight at Root, touched the brim of her hat with two fingers in salute.  
  
Ruby leaned in and whispered something into Root's ear that made the gunslinger look into her eyes and nod before sliding her ivory-handled guns back into their holsters. Then Ruby took her hand and led her away from the table, away from the whole crowd, and up the stairs.  
  
Black Betty watched them go, then turned back to the table and looked at the five cards Root had tossed there. Ace of spades, ace of clubs, two black eights and the queen of hearts.  
  
"Somethin' wrong?" Perl asked.  
  
"No," Black Betty responded. "Let's keep playing."  
  
The next day at high noon, Root was facing Black Betty again. This time neither one of them was smiling.  
  
"You gonna let this happen?" the deputy was asking the sheriff as they stood in front of their office and looked down the middle of the street, to where the gunslinger and the bounty hunter stood amid a small group of onlookers.  
  
"Why not?" the sheriff answered. "Either way I'll have one less problem to deal with when it's over."  
  
He walked back inside his office, while the deputy stuck a plug of tobacco in his cheek and leaned forward on the railing. He hadn't seen a gunfight since Neko was last in town. This one should be good.  
  
The two women stood back to back, then counted off 20 paces. Root turned and pulled both of her pistols at once. She didn't want to kill Black Betty. She would aim for her knees. That would stop the bounty hunter from chasing her for a while.  
  
There was a scream and Root suddenly felt a burning pain in her left shoulder. Then, somehow, she was on the ground, on her side. She kept trying to get up, but it was no use. Her vision was clouded by red, like a red veil covering her face. She rolled over onto her back and all she could see was the huge sun in the middle of the sky, with that blotch of red washing over it. There were voices, calling her name, and footsteps running on the ground toward her.  
  
Why can't I get up? Root found herself thinking. Her arms were flung out to the side. Her hat was somewhere. Her long legs were stretched out, useless. She was done. The last voice she heard was Black Betty's.  
  
"Don't touch her!" the bounty hunter was yelling. "Don't you touch her! She's mine."


	9. Chapter 9

  
  
  
  
Root had no way of knowing how long she was out. She woke up in a darkened room, pain shooting through her shoulder. At least that red blotchy veil was gone. She tried to sit up, but couldn't. Then she saw a shape move next to the bed, and heard Black Betty's voice saying her name.  
  
"Where am I?" Root asked.  
  
"At my place," the bounty hunter replied. "It's an old hunting cabin. Good place to hole up for a spell."  
  
Root looked over and saw the left sleeve of her linen shirt had been cut off and there were bandages around her shoulder.  
  
"You shot me."  
  
"Yeah, sorry about that," Black Betty replied, sitting down on the bed next to her. "But you know, it was either you or me."  
  
She reached over to Root's shoulder and began checking the bandage.  
  
"I fixed you up the best I could," she said, clicking her tongue. "I should change this dressing. Don't want your wound to get infected."  
  
She got up and fetched a wash basin and cloth, then began removing the bandages.  
  
"If there's one thing that'll kill you in here -- I mean out here -- it's infection," she said, gently sponging Root's shoulder with the cloth.  
  
"Why can't I move?" Root asked after a minute or two.  
  
"You got Rust."  
  
"What's that, some kind of backwoods disease?"  
  
"It's what they call it here, when your health takes a beating. You've taken several hard blows in the past little while, plus the explosion and now the gunshot. It's just one hit too many, I'm afraid."  
  
She gently slid her hands beneath Root's back and lifted her upper body so that she was sitting up, supported by a couple of pillows placed behind her. Then she got a clean bandage and some ointment and began re-wrapping the shoulder.  
  
"You had me worried there for a while," she said as she worked. "You slept like the dead. And not being able to move... well."  
  
Black Betty didn't finish the sentence. Root watched her eyes as she meticulously wrapped the bandage around her. She was quick but very painstaking in her work, unwrapping the bandage a couple of times and starting over just to make sure it was perfect.  
  
"Oh well, look on the bright side," the bounty hunter said when she finished. "At least I didn't have to tie you up."  
  
She used the back of her fingers to brush some hair away from Root's face and tuck it behind her ear. The gesture seemed so oddly familiar, almost intimate. Black Betty's eyes returned to Root's.  
  
"Where are you taking me?" Root asked. For the very first time, she felt scared, because she didn't know what was going to happen next.  
  
Black Betty bit her lip and sighed.  
  
"You still don't know me?" she asked.  
  
"Know you? You're the one who's been chasing me. The one who shot me."  
  
Black Betty shook her head.  
  
"Oh for God's sake," she sighed, her hands moving to cup Root's face.  
  
"What are you doing?" Root asked with a frown.  
   
"What I should have done right from the beginning," Black Betty replied, leaning in and closing her eyes as her mouth firmly captured Root's in a slow, tender kiss.  
  
When it was over, the bounty hunter pulled back and stared into her captive's eyes, waiting.  
  
Root blinked, then took a quick breath as the memories began flooding in. Strong, firm arms holding her. Warm, soft kisses on her shoulder, her neck, under her jaw. A voice whispering in her ear, saying her name. Their hands in each other's hair, their naked bodies tangled together...  
  
Root looked into Black Betty's dark eyes and felt like she could fall into them. It was the most intense, comforting feeling she could remember. A name, a presence slipped into her mind, her heart, her very soul. She spoke it out loud, to make it real.  
  
"Shaw."  
  
Her reward was a smile and a sigh of relief.  
  
"Thank God that worked," Shaw said. "I was afraid I was going to have to slug you again. And I don't think you could have handled another sock to the jaw."  
  
"Because of the Rust?"  
  
"Exactly."  
  
"So how do we fix it?"  
  
"We need to get you some health. Fast."  
  
"I think that kiss helped a bit. I can sit up a little more and move my arms now."  
  
"Maybe I should kiss you again," Shaw said, moving closer and taking Root in her arms.  
  
Their lips met again, softly, then Root pulled away.  
  
"Wait a minute," she said with a frown. "Just what were you doing with Perl?"  
  
"What were you doing with Ruby?"  
  
"Having fun."  
  
"Well, how 'bout from now on, we only have fun with each other."  
  
Shaw's hands moved to the front of Root's torn shirt and began unbuttoning it, pulling it open. Then her fingers were laced through Root's hair and her mouth was on Root's neck and it was only a matter of time, Root knew, before she'd forgive Shaw for everything. For shooting her, for punching her, for sleeping with Perl. For whatever the hell was going on.  
  
"Be careful of my shoulder," Root said, as Shaw pulled the pillows away and moved Root's body down so that she was lying flat again.  
  
"Sorry," Shaw said, settling onto the bed and brushing her lips against Root's waiting mouth, once, twice, then again and again. "I'm so sorry."  
  
Root cradled Shaw's head in her hands as the arousal began to build and their mouths became hungrier and their tongues began to press against each other. Soon, Shaw's mouth was moving down her long, outstretched body, kissing her over and over until she reached her core, then bringing her to orgasm, leaving her gasping for air.  
  
It wasn't long before Shaw started moving against her again, making that husky, growling sound she always made in her throat just before she came. It all felt so exquisitely familiar to Root -- the sudden tightening of Shaw's muscles, the way her body stopped moving, frozen in time for just a second or two, then that moment when she would shudder, cry out softly and sink down again.  
  
Afterwards, they lay in the bed with their arms around each other. Shaw looked at Root's shoulder and cursed. Some blood had come through the bandage again.  
  
"I'll have to change the dressing," she said. "Then we'd better get going."  
  
"Going where?"  
  
"To the doctor's office."  
  
"Why are we going there?"  
  
"Why else? To get some health for you. Get dressed."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't originally intend for this chapter to be so steamy but once I got into writing it, the characters just kind of took over and there was little I could do to restrain them. So I just let them go at it, since they seemed so intent on having their way.


	10. Chapter 10

  
  
It was well past midnight when they broke into the doctor's office through a back window and climbed inside. Root was still feeling very weak but Shaw's steady presence gave her the strength to make the extra effort.  
  
They quickly found a safe at the back of the office and Shaw knelt down in front of it and began turning the dial. After a few seconds, there was a click and Shaw opened the door. Inside the safe were piles of gold coins and a large white cube with a red cross on it. The white cube was glowing oddly. Shaw put on a pair of gloves, then very carefully picked up the cube and handed it to Root.  
  
"Here ya go," she said in a casual manner.  
  
"What in tarnation?" asked Root.  
  
"Uh, right," Shaw looked at her sympathetically. "Just take it. It's OK."  
  
Root reached out with both hands and took the cube, which glowed brighter, then disappeared. She instantly felt 100 per cent better. Shaw grinned and turned back to the safe.  
  
"Let's grab this gold," she said, reaching for the coins and putting them into a cloth bag.  
  
Turning to leave, Shaw spied a couple of rifles leaning up against the wall in the corner.  
  
"Might as well take those too," she said picking up the long guns. "Now we're in pretty good shape."  
  
They returned to their horses and began riding back to the hunting cabin in the darkness. After a few minutes of silence, Root spoke.  
  
"We're inside The Machine, aren't we?  
  
Shaw turned to look at her.  
  
"Yeah," she said.  
  
"But how?"  
  
"You'd be surprised what they can do with computers these days."  
  
"This western scenario..." Root began, then frowned and looked at Shaw again. "It must be one of the games I installed on The Machine a while ago."  
  
"It's called Sundown," answered Shaw. "Love the threads and the old-school guns. Still getting used to the lingo."  
  
"What lingo?" asked Root. "Oh you mean this here manner of speaking? It's dead easy."  
  
Shaw smiled grudgingly.  
  
"I must have gotten bored with the story line and started coding in some changes," Root went on. "I've obviously modified the program. But there's more than just a simple game going on here. It's like three games combined."  
  
She shook her head and smiled, somewhat proudly.  
  
"Trust a hacker," Shaw replied dryly. "All I know is you've been lost in here for, well, ages. Forgot who you really were. The Machine finally had to send me in to fetch you."  
  
"Amazing," Root marveled. "Lost in a digital mashup of my own making."  
  
"Darn tootin'," Shaw replied, then spit out a piece of tobacco.  
  
"See? You're getting the lingo down real good," Root chuckled. "Don't forget to wipe your mouth, sweetie."  
  
"Watch out or I'll wipe my mouth with you."  
  
"Promise?" Root raised an eyebrow.  
  
It was dark, so she wasn't sure if Shaw saw her do it. When they got back to the cabin, Shaw started a fire in the old wood stove to keep the place warm, then crawled into bed.  
  
"So, what's next?" Root asked, as Shaw pulled her close and they snuggled together under the wool blanket.  
  
"Like I said, I'm here to bring you back," Shaw replied, kissing Root's forehead and stroking her hair. "I'm not leaving without you."  
  
"But how do we get out?"  
  
"You tell me. You're the hacker."  
  
"Is there some kind of trail or road we're supposed to follow?" Root queried.  
  
Shaw sighed resignedly.  
  
"I've scouted all of them already," she replied. "They either go around in a complete circle or they just lead to a dead end."  
  
"What about the train?" Root asked.  
  
"Same thing. I found three possible ways to board the train..."  
  
"Let me guess, one of them involved fighting your way on."  
  
"Yeah, that was kind of fun," Shaw smirked. "But it didn't matter. The train only goes for a few miles, then it hits a rock slide and derails."  
  
Root nestled her head under Shaw's chin, closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then suddenly sat up in the bed.  
  
"Of course!" she exclaimed. "Everything I need is in Euphoria. Or should I say... everyone."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"All the people," Root explained. "They can help us."  
  
Shaw still looked confused. But Root was already going though all the names in her head. Haskell, Miranda, Ruby, Perl, Python, Java ... and on and on. Most everyone and everything in the town could help her.  
  
Root lay back down, wrapped her arms around Shaw again, and smiled.  
  
"I can get us out."


	11. Chapter 11

  
  
The next morning, Root got up early, while Shaw was still sleeping, and pulled her workbook out of her saddle bag. Then she sat down at the small wooden table near the window and began working out a formula or two. She knew there had to be a way to get them out ... it was just a matter of finding it.  
  
"Half the problem is identifying the problem," she said out loud as she scratched her head absentmindedly.  
  
"If you say so," she heard a voice coming from the bed.  
  
Shaw had been watching her work, although Root had no idea how long, and was now getting up and shuffling over to the wood stove.  
  
"I'll make us breakfast," she said, stuffing a few pieces of wood into the stove and then slamming its door shut. "Got some bacon yesterday."  
  
"Yum," answered Root. "Coffee would be good too."  
  
"I know," Shaw answered, pulling a canister down from a shelf. "You can't work for long without it."  
  
She set about making the coffee and after a while, brought over a cup and placed it on the table in front of Root, then kissed her on the shoulder.  
  
"How's it coming?" she asked, pulling up a chair for herself. "Any ideas yet?"  
  
"Nothing solid," Root replied with a frown.  
  
"Wish I could do something."  
  
Root looked at her for a second or two.  
  
"Maybe you can. Let's head into town after breakfast and see if we can get some help there."  
  
"What kind of help, exactly?" asked Shaw, sipping her own coffee.  
  
"I'm not sure yet. But starting with Ruby will probably be easiest."  
  
Shaw narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips slightly. Root responded by tilting her head to one side and smiling indulgently.  
  
"It'll be strictly business, sweetie," she said, placing her hand on Shaw's tightened fist. "I promise."  
  
Shaw didn't reply, but stood up and went back to the frying pan on the stove.  
  
"How long should I burn your bacon?" she asked.  
  
Just like that, Root was standing behind her, gently slipping her arms around her and resting her chin on her shoulder.  
  
"There's only one person in this whole damn world I want," Root said softly. "And it's you."  
  
Shaw looked down at the sizzling bacon for a moment, then turned her head towards Root and kissed her.  
  
"Me too."  
  
Later that day, Root and Shaw rode into town on Python and Java and stopped at the saloon, where they tied their horses to the hitching post. Tom looked surprised to see them, but brought them glasses and a bottle of whiskey.  
  
"Buried the hatchet, did you?" he asked dryly.  
  
"In a manner of speaking," Root answered. "Ruby around?"  
  
"She's indisposed," Tom said. "Her fella's in town."  
  
Shaw brightened. "Oh, she has a fella, does she?"  
  
Root nudged her.  
  
"That would be Neko," she whispered. "He's a badass."  
  
"Yeah well, so am I," said Shaw, grabbing the whiskey bottle and pouring them drinks.  
  
"Just tell her I'm here and I'd like a word," Root instructed Tom. "It won't take long."  
  
Shaw slammed her drink back and poured another, while Root just took a small sip of hers. After a few minutes Ruby came down the stairs and made her way over to their table.  
  
"Hey darlin'," she greeted Root with a smile. "Didn't think I'd ever see your pretty face again."  
  
"Likewise."  
  
"Whatcha doing here with the bounty hunter?"  
  
"We made our peace," Root said, turning to Shaw. "Didn't we, partner?"  
  
"You could say that," Shaw replied.  
  
"Listen Ruby," Root continued. "Is there anyone in town goes by the name C-plus-plus, or something similar like?"  
  
"C-plus-plus?" Ruby frowned. "No, I don't rightly know anyone by that moniker."  
  
"What about C. T. T.?" Root asked. "Would that be ringing any bells?"  
  
"Well, yeah," Ruby smiled. "That'd be Cadwallader Theophilius Tennyson."  
  
Root and Shaw exchanged looks.  
  
"Everyone just calls him C Double T," Ruby explained. "Cuz of his real name being so long and unwieldy like."  
  
"Who is this man?" Root asked. "I don't believe I've met him."  
  
"Well sure you have, " laughed Ruby.  
  
Root raised an eyebrow. "I have?"  
  
"Yes, darlin'. He's the sheriff."  
  
Root sat back in her chair and sighed, while Shaw poured herself another whiskey.  
  
"What do you need him for anyway?" Ruby asked.  
  
"Got a problem needs solving," Root replied.  
  
"Speaking of problems..." Shaw interjected, looking towards the staircase.  
  
Root followed her gaze and saw a tall, dark-haired, bearded man dressed in black coming down the stairs. Unsmiling, he walked over to the table and grabbed Ruby's arm, pulling her out of her chair.  
  
"Who said you could leave?" he asked her. "And who are these hombres?"  
  
Ruby's demeanor changed immediately at the man's touch.  
  
"These are just some friends of mine," she answered him evasively.  
  
"Friends," he said, sitting down. "What are their names?"  
  
"I'm Shaw," said Shaw, eyeing the man steadily. "And this here is..."  
  
"You can call me Root."  
  
"Root?" the man repeated. "I've heard of you. You're the one who's been pawing my woman while I been away."  
  
"Neko..." Ruby began.  
  
"Shut up."  
  
He pulled out his pistol and laid it on the table. It had a series of notches on the stock that appeared to be made by a small jackknife. Root could see Shaw's hand on her own pistol, ready to draw. Root kept her hands on the table in front of her.  
  
"You see those notches?" Neko asked. "Those are all the men I shot dead for messing with Ruby. Tomorrow, I'm gonna add a notch for you."  
  
Ruby gasped as Shaw pulled her gun and pointed it at Neko.  
  
"This don't concern you, bounty hunter," Neko said, without averting his gaze from Root. "It's between me and her."  
  
"Name the place and time," Root said, without flinching. "I'll be there."  
  
"Root..." Shaw began.  
  
"No it's OK," Root smiled, her eyes still locked with Neko's. "I've been itching to meet this waste of skin. Might as well settle it with pistols."  
  
"I don't want no one fighting over me," Ruby protested.  
  
"It ain't over you," Root replied, picking up her glass and taking a drink. "It's about taking things to the next level. That's what this game is all about. Right Neko?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Neko replied. "But dead sure, I'll see you outside of this saloon tomorrow at high noon."  
  
"Looking forward to it," Root replied as Neko holstered his gun, grabbed Ruby's wrist and led her back upstairs.  
  
Shaw leaned forward, her hand on Root's arm.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" she asked. "You already lost one gunfight."  
  
"That was different. I didn't want to kill you."


	12. Chapter 12

  
  
The midday sun was bright on a cloudless day, and it made Root squint a bit as she scouted the street outside the saloon. There were a few people around, but not many, and it didn't appear the sheriff had been told about the gunfight, since he and the deputy were nowhere to be seen.  
  
At first, Root wondered if Neko was even going to show up. But then she heard the saloon doors creak open and swing back on their hinges, and saw him walk out, dragging Ruby behind him, a cigarillo clenched between his teeth.  
  
Root removed her long coat, folded it and gave it to Shaw, who would serve as her second. She could have asked any of a number of people to be her second. But she chose Shaw because she wanted to keep her nearby, on the ground, away from the rooftops where Shaw had offered to camp out with a rifle, just in case.  
  
"I can't let you do that," Root had told her. "I'm taking Neko down myself. And if one of his men or the sheriff's sees you up there, we'll have another gunfight on our hands."  
  
Shaw showed no reaction but Root knew she was worried. As for Ruby, she  looked well past worried. She was frantic.  
  
"Don't do this," she was pleading, pulling at Neko's arm. He shoved her away and threw down the cigarillo.  
  
"You get one pistol, gunslinger," he said to Root. "Twenty paces, then we draw. Take as many shots as you want. I'll only need one."  
  
Root smiled.  
  
"I'll be waiting," she said.  
  
Neko's lip curled in response.  
  
"You're dead," he said, then turned to Shaw. "You stay back. This ain't your fight."  
  
Shaw didn't reply but Root knew what she was thinking. She took off her left-hand gun belt and handed it to Shaw, then lined up back to back with Neko and began taking her paces, with Shaw calling each one out loud.  
  
"One... two... three..." Root could hear Ruby whimpering and the wind making the saloon doors swing and creak.  
  
"Six... seven ... eight..." now she couldn't hear much except the sound of her boots crunching on the gravel.  
  
"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen," this was taking forever, but Root was already planning how she'd turn and draw, how she'd aim for Neko's center mass, how she'd squeeze the trigger slowly but surely.  
  
"Eighteen ... nine ... he's drawing!"  
  
Root began to turn upon hearing Shaw's warning but it was too late. Something whizzed past her ear and she felt a burning sensation on her upper arm. Looking down, she could see blood beginning to seep through the torn sleeve of her shirt, where a bullet had grazed her as she turned. Neko had taken two shots, and missed.  
  
She looked up at Neko and his smoking gun and pointed her pistol straight at him, aiming for his chest. Then she heard a clicking sound. Then another.  
  
It was Neko's gun. He kept pulling the trigger and the hammer kept clicking and clicking. Root stood still and held her aim as Ruby started to scream.  
  
"Shoot! Shoot the bastard!" she yelled, her screams bringing more people out onto the street to watch as Neko dropped his gun and sank to his knees.  
  
"No!" he yelled, holding up his hands in front of him in a futile defensive gesture. "Don't shoot! Please don't shoot!"  
  
Root frowned and looked at Shaw, who began to walk over to where Neko knelt, quaking and begging for his life. She picked up his gun and waved to Root.  
  
"It's jammed! The cylinder's stuck!" Shaw yelled, beckoning Root to join her.  
  
The gunslinger retraced her paces at a run, stopping over the crumpled form of the sniveling Neko. She took a step back, then delivered a kick that laid him out, unconscious. Then she spun her pistol around in her hand and slid it back into the holster.  
  
"Like most bullies, a coward," she said.  
  
"Why didn't you shoot him?" Ruby cried, grabbing Root's arm."You had him."  
  
Before Root could reply, Shaw was between them, breaking Ruby's grip and pushing her away.  
  
"Get off her," she said. "It's over. We're done."  
  
"Not so fast," came a gruff voice from behind them.  
  
Shaw and Root turned around. It was the sheriff, with his deputy, who quickly took Root by the wrists and forced her arms behind her.  
  
"You're under arrest," the sheriff said. "For gunfighting."  
  
"She didn't fire a single shot," Shaw protested angrily.  
  
"Yeah, well she's still standing and he's out cold," replied Cadwallader Theophilius Tennyson, nodding towards Neko's motionless body.  
  
"She was hit, she needs a doctor," Shaw insisted, stepping forward as the deputy put up his arm to stop her.  
  
"You better calm yourself, bounty hunter, or you'll be joining your friend behind bars," he said.  
  
Shaw stepped back, glowering as the deputy led Root away.  
  
"Get Haskell, he'll post bail," Root called over her shoulder.  
  
Shaw wasted no time mounting Java and riding off, as the deputy shoved Root towards the sheriff's office. Once she was in the cell, the sheriff sent the deputy for the doctor. Then he walked over to the cell.  
  
"I thought I was rid of you," the sheriff said, eyeing Root from the other side of the bars. "You keep coming back like a bad rash."  
  
"Well, I was kinda hoping you could help me with that," Root smiled back.  
  
"Help you?" the sheriff asked. "Why would I help you? I'd just as soon see you swing."  
  
"Maybe," Root replied. "But we both know you got nothing on me. When Haskell gets here, I'm gonna walk. Again."  
  
The sheriff lifted his chin and grunted.  
  
"What do you say we sit down and have a nice chat?" Root asked. "I could even sweeten the deal if you like."  
  
When Shaw returned with Haskell, Root was sitting in the sheriff's chair, with her boots on the sheriff's desk. Both of them were holding cards and there was a pile of gold coins in the middle of the desk, with a folded document lying on top of them. It looked like the doctor had already been there, since Root had a bandage on her arm and a smile on her face.  
  
"Good afternoon C Double T," Haskell greeted the sheriff. "I'm here to secure the release of my associate, yet again."  
  
"I think I can spare you the trouble," Root responded, laying down her cards on the desk.  
  
"Four Queens!" the sheriff hissed. "I don't believe it."  
  
Root smiled and pulled the pile of coins toward her, then slipped the folded document inside her vest.  
  
"Nice doing business with you sheriff," she said, tipping her hat. "Come on, Shaw, Mr. Haskell, I'll buy you both a drink."  
  
The three of them repaired to the saloon, where they found a table and a bottle of whiskey and spread out the sheriff's document for a look.  
  
"What is this?" asked Shaw. "It looks like a map."  
  
"It is," Root explained. "I told the sheriff we needed another way out of Euphoria and asked him if there was a hidden route of some kind. That's when he told me about the old mine."  
  
"The mine?" asked Haskell. "I've heard about it. It was abandoned years ago."  
  
"It was," said Root. "But it also connects with an old cave system that heads into the mountains yonder."  
  
"Another way out?" remarked Shaw.  
  
"Apparently."  
  
"I dunno," Shaw frowned. "It could be a trap. I don't like it one bit."  
  
"It's our only hope," Root replied. "You've tried everything else."  
  
Just then, there was a commotion on the other side of the saloon and the crowd quickly parted to reveal Neko, shoving his way over to the table. He had a pistol in his hand and it was pointed right at Root.  
  
"I won't miss this time," he snarled. "You done messed with the wrong man."  
  
Chairs scraped across the floor as Root reached for her gun, while Shaw was already on her feet with hers drawn. There was a scream, then a loud bang that echoed through the saloon. Neko staggered, dropped his gun and fell to the floor. Standing behind him, holding a smoking revolver, was Ruby.  
  



	13. Chapter 13

  
  
  
Shaw and Root got up early the next morning before sunrise, packed their gear on their horses and began riding out to the mine's entrance. It was a cool morning and very quiet. Neither one of them spoke as they rode and there was only the sound of the odd nocturnal creature among the trees and the horses' hooves clopping along on the soft ground. After about half an hour, Root pulled up her horse and stopped.  
  
"What's wrong?" Shaw asked.  
  
Root sighed.  
  
"We have to go back."  
  
"No we don't," said Shaw.   
  
"Yes," Root replied, tugging on the reins and turning Python around. "Yes, we do."  
  
Shaw reached over, grabbing Root's arm.  
  
"You don't owe her anything," she said, frowning.  
  
"She's in jail, Shaw. For murder."  
  
Root clicked her tongue at Python and started heading back. Now it was Shaw's turn to sigh. She knew there was no point in arguing, once Root had her mind made up. That was one of the things they had in common. A stubborn streak. Like Shaw, Root cared very little for most of the people she knew, but was fiercely loyal to the few she held dear. Shaw watched Root disappearing down the trail in the early light, her head held high, her long hair blowing behind her.  
  
"Dammit, Root."  
  
She spit out a stream of tobacco juice, put the spurs to Java and took off after her. When they got to the jail, Root drew her pistols and Shaw pulled a rifle from her saddle bag. Then they walked in quietly, Root first, Shaw covering her from the doorway.  
  
The sheriff was at his desk and the deputy was sitting in a chair next to Ruby's cell, with a shotgun in his hands. The shotgun was pointing at Root.  
  
"I had a feeling you two would be back," the sheriff said, pointing his own pistol at Shaw. "One more step and I shoot."  
  
"We came for Ruby," Root said. "We don't want any bloodshed."  
  
"Neither do I, gunslinger. But I got a job to do. She killed a man in cold blood."  
  
"He had it coming," Root replied.  
  
"Maybe he did. Probably he did. But that ain't up to you to decide, or me," the sheriff said as he got to his feet. "Put your guns down, nice and slow. Dead slow."  
  
Root took a breath and bit her lip. Then she glanced at Shaw and holstered her guns, dead slow like the sheriff said. He nodded at the deputy, who lowered his shotgun and Shaw, still standing in the doorway, followed suit. Then the sheriff held up one hand and holstered his own pistol.  
  
"We do have a justice system in these parts," he said, his eyes fixed on Root. "The judge'll be in town next week and Ruby will be put on trial."  
  
"And we all know how that'll end," Root returned.   
  
"I can't say how it will end," the sheriff said. "But I can't let you take her."  
  
Ruby was on her feet now, standing at the front of her cell, clutching the bars as she watched the interaction unfold.  
  
"Could I just speak with her?" Root asked, motioning toward the singer.  
  
"Surrender your guns," the sheriff answered. "And tell your friend to wait outside. You've got five minutes."  
  
Root unbuckled her gun belts and laid her weapons on the desk, then held up her hands while the deputy frisked her.  He nodded to the sheriff and then stepped away from the cell, allowing Root to approach.   
  
"No touching," he said.  
  
Root walked over to the bars and took off her hat.  
  
"That's my job, darlin," Ruby said, nodding at the hat that was now in Root's hands.  
  
"Thought I'd save you the trouble this time," Root smiled.   
  
Ruby smiled back but it was a mere shadow of the smile she usually had on her face.   
  
"Never thought I'd end up living out one of my own songs," she said. "You always said they were too sad and gruesome. Guess it serves me right, doesn't it?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Root told her, shaking her head. "It's my fault you're in here."  
  
"No," Ruby answered. "It's because of you I'm free."  
  
"You aren't free. You're locked up."  
  
"But you've shown me how to be strong and smart and brave," Ruby insisted. "The way a woman should be. Nobody's property. Nobody's fool. You taught me that, by the way you live your life."  
  
"I want you to live yours, too."  
  
"You can't save me now," Ruby smiled sadly. "You should leave with your friend, before things get real ugly."  
  
Just then, Shaw poked her head in the door.   
  
"Looks like you got trouble, sheriff," she called out. "You'd best get out here. With your guns."  
  
Root followed the lawmen outside and joined Shaw in watching a large group of people approaching, some of them armed.  
  
"What in tarnation are you people up to?" the sheriff asked brusquely. "You got no business here. Go home."  
  
"Not until you hand over Ruby," a man's voice called out.  
  
"Ain't no way that's gonna happen," the sheriff replied. "She's my prisoner and I'm responsible for her. I ain't gonna turn her over to a lynch mob, no matter what she's done!"  
  
A stocky, bearded man stepped forward from the crowd and put his hands on his hips.  
  
"We don't wanna string her up," he protested. "We want to set her free!"  
  
A chorus of voices joined in, shouting their agreement. The sheriff stared back at them with a look of surprise on his face.   
  
"You can't do that neither," he yelled back in frustration. "The judge's gotta come and there's gotta be a trial. "  
  
"Ruby's only gone and done what you should'a done yourself!" a woman's voice piped up from the back of the crowd. "How about we tell that to the judge?"  
  
The sheriff was momentarily lost for words as the others in the crowd began murmuring among themselves.  
  
"Hang on just a minute!" the sheriff yelled, when he finally managed to collect himself. "There'll still have to be a jury picked, with 12 men on it. We gotta do all that and ..."  
  
"I'll be on the jury!" one man shouted.  
  
Another man shouted the same, then another and another and several more on top of that. The sheriff stared at the crowd and scratched his head, then looked at the deputy.  
  
"That sound like 12 of 'em to you?" he asked.  
  
"Pretty close," the deputy answered, lowering his shotgun.  
  
The sheriff stepped forward and looked at the crowd for a moment. Then he held up both his hands.  
  
"What do you all say then," he called out. "Guilty or not guilty?"  
  
"Not guilty!" the entire crowed yelled back, almost in unison.  
  
The sheriff grunted, then tossed his keys to the deputy, who shouldered his shotgun and went back inside. Not even a minute later, Ruby appeared in the doorway to a chorus of cheers. She was soon swallowed up by the boisterous crowd, emerging only to hug Root and to thank her and Shaw, before re-joining the group of well-wishers as it began moving across the street to the saloon.  
  
Root and Shaw watched them for a moment. Then the sheriff came outside and handed Root her guns.  
  
"Now, I want you two..."  
  
"Don't worry," Root interjected. "We're leaving."  
  
They mounted their horses and began riding back to the mine again, this time in the daylight. When they got to the entrance, Root pulled out the map.   
  
"Here it is," she said. "The main tunnel was used to pull out ore by horse and wagon, so it'll be big enough to take our horses inside."  
  
She dismounted and began walking into the mine, leading Python behind her. Shaw lit a candle and followed her with Java.  
  
"As long as we stick to the main tunnel, we should be fine," Root explained. "It only goes down about 10 feet on a gradual slope and then comes up again. After that it connects with the caves, which are quite huge on the other side. We shouldn't have any trouble getting through as long as there've been no rock slides to block the passage."  
  
"The hard part's gonna be keeping the horses calm," Shaw told her. "They're a little nervous."  
  
"They are?" Root teased. "Sure it's not you?"  
  
"I'm fine," Shaw replied. "Just keep walking."  
  
About an hour later, they emerged from the back side of a cave into the open country. Sure enough, in the distance was a mountain range. It would take a while to get there, so Shaw suggested they rest for a while first. They tied up the horses and sat down under a tree to have a bite to eat. Root hadn't realized how tired she was after all the excitement of the morning. She leaned back against the tree for a moment, then felt Shaw put an arm around her and pull her closer. Root turned slightly, resting her head on Shaw's shoulder.  
  
"You were right to go back," Shaw said quietly, kissing Root's forehead.   
  
"You're not mad, then?" Root asked.  
  
"No."  
  
"Good."  
  
The horses nickered and Shaw drew up a knee and rested her arm on it.   
  
"Are you sure you're ready to go back to the real world?" she asked after a while.  
  
"Yeah, I think I am," said Root. "I'm going to miss these clothes, though. What about you?"  
  
"I'll miss the boots and the hat, but that's it," said Shaw. "I don't like wearing a tie and the trousers are too loose for my liking."  
  
"They're easier to pull off," Root smiled, reaching over to unbuckle Shaw's belt and  then letting her hand slip further down, to her fly, where it tugged at the buttons.    
  
Shaw responded by sinking down until she was stretched out submissively on her back, her breathing growing husky in anticipation as Root worked her way through the buttons. Root took her time about it, smiling as her hands made their way up Shaw's taut body to undo the buttons on her shirt, watching her chest rise and fall as she lay there, her arms flung out, her mouth slightly open, waiting.  
  
Finally, Shaw grabbed Root's arms and pulled her long body on top of hers, moaning with pleasure as they began to kiss slowly and move together. Root could feel Shaw's hands all over her, pulling her clothes off, stripping her to the bare skin, caressing her. The rest was a tumble of whispers, long, soft kisses and Shaw rolling over on top of her as they made love in the tall grass, warmed by the early afternoon sun.  
  
It was the sound of the horses neighing restlessly that woke Root up a while later. She began finding her clothes and pulling them on, calling to Shaw, who was still sleeping in the soft grass.  
  
"Come on, we have to get going," she said, throwing Shaw her trousers and shirt.  
  
"Ugh," Shaw replied. "Damn, we fell asleep."  
  
"Yeah we did."  
  
"What's the name of that song?"  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"The one where the horses are staring at the couple having sex."  
  
"Raspberry Beret."  
  
Shaw chuckled. "Yeah, 'Raspberry Beret'," she said, mounting Java. "The horses wonder who you are."  
  
They rode off toward the mountains, with Shaw humming "Raspberry Beret" over and other. Then she started humming "Little Red Corvette."  
  
Root looked over at her and frowned, mildly annoyed at the humming.  
  
"Could you hum something else?"  
  
"What's wrong with it?" Shaw frowned back. "Hey, what's he talking about when he says she had a pocket full of horses?"  
  
"Condoms."  
  
"Really?" Shaw laughed. "That's funny."  
  
Root had to smile in spite of herself. The afternoon roll in the hay seemed to have improved Shaw's mood immensely. She told herself to file that little trick away for later, just in case.  
  
After a while, the beginning of the mountain path became visible up ahead. Shaw looked over at Root and smiled broadly.  
  
"C'mon!" she called, exhorting Java to a gallop. But she didn't get far before the horse reared up in terror.    
  
Root caught up and found her horse reacting the same way.   
  
"What's wrong?" she asked Shaw, who was dismounting and trying to calm Java.  
  
"There's something up ahead that's got them spooked," Shaw replied, pulling her rifle from the saddle bag. "I'm going up for a look."  
  
"Wait, I'm coming with you," Root told her, climbing down from Python and following Shaw to the clearing.  
  
She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what Shaw was facing. It was a towering wall of flame that reached at least 50 feet high and went on for miles and miles in both directions. It was impassable.    
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

  
  
  
"I thought a firewall was meant to keep you out, not in," Shaw muttered as they retraced their steps back to the caves.  
  
Despite Shaw's emotionless demeanor, Root could sense the bitter disappointment in her companion's voice. She didn't blame her. She felt much the same way.  
  
"It's designed to monitor and control incoming as well as outgoing network traffic, so it works both ways," Root explained, reaching down to pat Python's neck. "Though I have to admit, I never took the term 'firewall' quite so literally before."  
  
"So what do we do now?" Shaw asked after a minute or two of riding. "Just give up?"  
  
"Of course not," Root frowned. "There has to be a way..."  
  
She trailed off. What if there was no way? She didn't want to think about that.  
  
"It's going to get dark soon," Shaw pointed out. "We should make camp for the night."  
  
Root nodded and looked at the map. There was a small lake just beyond the next stand of trees. They could water the horses there and fill their canteens. She was tired, anyway. It didn't take them long to find the lake and Shaw set about building a small campfire while Root grabbed their saddle bags from the horses.  
  
They'd brought some food with them and some sleeping gear, just in case. Trust Shaw to think of every eventuality. After they ate, they rolled out their sleeping bags. Root found hers a mite cold, so she crawled into Shaw's and pulled her blanket over top of them, snuggling up to keep warm. She felt Shaw's arms reach around her and pull her close.  
  
"I'm sorry for getting you into this," Root whispered.  
  
"Don't be," Shaw answered, kissing her hair and her forehead. "I'm just glad I found you."  
  
"Me too."  
  
The next morning, Root awoke at dawn and carefully wriggled out of the sleeping bag, quietly so as not to wake Shaw, then pulled on her boots and long coat. There was a fresh dew on the ground and the sound of a few birds chirping in the trees. Root walked over to the edge of the lake and stood silently, admiring its beauty. She didn't know how long she stood there, but after a while she heard the sounds of breakfast preparations and knew Shaw was up.  
  
She walked back over to the campfire and knelt down to help.  
  
"Good morning," she smiled.  
  
Shaw grunted. Not a morning person. And not really verbal until after that first cup of coffee, which she was busily trying to brew in a banged-up pot over the fire. Soon they were both sitting with warm cups in their hands.  
  
"Can't imagine the sheriff is going to be too pleased to see us come straggling back into town," Root mused aloud.  
  
"Nope," said Shaw. "He'll be pissed."  
  
"He's always pissed."  
  
"Yeah, well..." Shaw stood up. "Maybe you can tell him how dead useless that map was."  
  
Root sighed.  
  
"It doesn't make sense," she frowned. "If this is a game, how do you get to the top level and win?"  
  
"It's too bad there's not one of those things you and Finch are always talking about," Shaw replied. "You know, what do you call it? A back door?"  
  
Root suddenly paused with her coffee cup mid-air. Shaw turned to look at her.  
  
"What?" she asked. "Is there a back door?"  
  
"No," Root answered with a smile. "But there will be ... soon."  
  
Shaw looked puzzled.  
  
"You're a genius!" Root told her, planting a kiss on her cheek. "Come on, let's get going. I'll explain on the way."  
  
They quickly packed their horses and rode back, through the caves, down into the mine and out again, then along the trail back into town.  
  
The sheriff was standing outside his office when they rode back into town. He pulled the cigar out of his mouth and swore.  
  
"Not you two again!" he shouted.  
  
Root lifted her hat in salute.  
  
"Just passing through, sheriff," she called out as they rode by.  
  
Shaw just aimed a stream of tobacco juice in the sheriff's direction, then tipped her hat wordlessly. Soon they were at Haskell's ranch. Orwell stepped out of the large barn, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.  
  
"Halloo!" he greeted them. "You're just in time to see my latest invention."  
  
"Hope it's what I think it is," Root replied, pulling Shaw behind her.  
  
They stepped into the barn and saw a large, box-like container covered with reflective metal sheets. Inside it was a chair and a series of switches, cranks, gears and dials attached to long, glass tubes that went up the walls. Orwell beamed proudly.  
  
"Marvelous, isn't it?" he asked.  
  
"Well, it looks quite impressive," Root replied, winking at Shaw. "But does it work?"  
  
"That's what I'm hoping I'll find out today," Orwell replied.  
  
"Can I see your calculations?"  
  
Orwell quickly went to his work bench and grabbed a pile of papers, which he spread out for Root to peruse. She looked them over, then nodded at Shaw.  
  
"Were you planning on a test run?" she asked Orwell.  
  
"Yes, but I don't want to venture too far," he chuckled. "Miranda is cooking dinner for me tonight and she'll be rather perturbed if I don't show up."  
  
"Or if you show up early," Root added with a smile.  
  
"Quite," Orwell replied. "Well, let's have a go then."  
  
He pulled his goggles down over his eyes and went into the box, then sat down on the chair and gave the thumbs up.  
  
"Better stand back," he advised with a grin.  
  
Root and Shaw backed up as much as they could while still being able to watch the proceedings. Orwell began turning cranks and flipping dials and soon the tubes inside the box began to glow with an eerie green color. Pretty soon the entire box was bathed in the greenish glow. It grew brighter and brighter still, and then poof! The box disappeared.  
  
Amazed, Shaw turned to look at Root.  
  
"Holy shit!" she said. "It actually worked!"  
  
"It appears that way," Root remarked, arching a brow. "We should have asked how long he'd be gone.  
  
"Well, he said he wasn't going far," Shaw replied, jumping up to sit on the work bench. "I guess we'll just have to wait."  
  
Root leaned back against the bench and crossed her arms in front of her. About 10 minutes later, the shape of the box began to appear again and within a few seconds, it had re-materialized before their eyes. Orwell stepped out of the box, grinning from ear to ear.  
  
"It worked, didn't it?" he asked excitedly, pulling off his goggles. "I went 10 minutes into the future!"  
  
"We saw," Root replied. "The box disappeared for 10 minutes exactly."  
  
"Would you like to take it for a spin?" Orwell asked, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"Actually, we'd love to," Root replied. "But we'll need another chair."  
  
"I'll go fetch one," Orwell grinned, heading out the door.  
  
Shaw went back to her horse and grabbed her rifles.  
  
"We're going to need these where we're going," she told Root, carrying the rifles into the box.  
  
"What about the clothes?" Root asked. "Aren't we going to look out of place?"  
  
"Don't worry," Shaw replied. "We'll just look like we're going to a costume party."  
  
"Or a lesbian wedding," Root smiled.  
  
"Hmm. That's actually a pretty cool idea," Shaw smiled, pulling Root into her arms and kissing her. "Remind me about that one later."  
  
"How much later are we talking about?"  
  
"Leave that to me."  
  
Orwell returned with the chair and placed it inside the box, then pointed out the dials to Root and Shaw.  
  
"Just set the dials for the exact time you want," he explained. "This is the minute, this is the hour, this is the day and this, the year. "  
  
"Anything else we should know?" Root asked him as Shaw began fiddling with the dials.  
  
"Just have fun," Orwell said. "I have a feeling I won't be seeing you again."  
  
He shook both their hands and wished them luck before stepping out of the box.  
  
"Any idea where or when we'll end up?" Root asked Shaw as they both braced themselves, watching the tubes beginning to glow.  
  
"I know exactly where and when," Shaw said. "The exact moment we need to get to. Everything's going to work out perfectly this time, I promise."  
  
She leaned over and kissed Root once more, just as the machine slipped out of Euphoria and disappeared into time.  
  
It seemed like just a few minutes later a door opened on either side of the metal box and Root and Shaw stepped out, brandishing their guns.  
  
"So, you were just about to say something about shapes," Shaw suggested, taking aim with her rifle.  
  
"Yeah, I was," Root replied. "How did you know?"  
  
"I'll explain later. Just shoot."  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a brief epilogue. -- ZT


	15. Epilogue

  
  
The mild Mediterranean breeze felt heavenly as Ruby finished her afternoon swim in her infinity pool. She slowly moved towards the built-in steps and emerged from the water, feeling refreshed and strong and yes, healthy.  
  
It had been a long road back for her after rehab, after leaving her band, setting out on her own, everything. Her first solo album went platinum. That was something. But it made her a bigger star than ever. And that's not always such a good thing.  
  
One of the things that had helped keep her sane through it all was moving out here, away from all the craziness. The people here didn't speak much English, didn't know who she was. Didn't care. It was so liberating not to be recognized, or bothered.  
  
She pulled a towel around her long, lean body and headed through the sliding doors into her luxury cliff-side home. The housekeeper was in the kitchen, finishing up her cleaning duties and making sure Ruby had a stocked fridge for the weekend. She was busy washing some freshly bought figs and placing them in a painted blue and yellow bowl on the marble countertop. Soon, she'd leave and Ruby would have the place to herself again. She was looking forward to the peace and quiet.  
  
The front doorbell sounded and the housekeeper went to answer it, returning shortly afterwards with an envelope in her hands. She smiled and presented it to Ruby with a slight nod of her head.  
  
The singer glanced down at the stiff cream-colored envelope, embossed with her name in gold lettering. Well, it looked like someone had tracked her down after all. She opened the envelope and read the card inside.  
  
"Ms. Sameen Shaw and Ms. Samantha Groves request your presence at their wedding."  
  
Underneath that was the date, the time and the location of the wedding, a place in the Texas Panhandle named Sundown Ranch. Ruby frowned slightly, her curiosity piqued, as she read further down.  
  
"Please dress in western costume, i.e. cowboy, gunslinger, outrider, rancher, saloon hostess, etc."  
  
Ruby smiled to herself and checked the calendar on her smartphone. She'd be there for sure. And she already knew which costume she'd be wearing.

 

* * *

 


End file.
